Thawing
by Hamliet
Summary: When Armin and Erwin discover that the old world had a holiday called Christmas, Erwin decrees a celebration for the Survey Corps. Secret gifts, Christmas tree disasters, and other shenanigans ensue... and keeping the celebration secret might be harder than they thought. Canon divergent wherein certain people are actually alive. Slightly crack, lots of fluff.
1. A Righteous Doll

**Thank you for reading this semi-crack angst/romance/fluff fest! I will update MWF, and each ship I cover will be getting their own chapter, although there will be a central plot running through each of them.  
**

 **Ships to be covered are Eremika, Aruani, Levihan, Yumikuri, Jeanmarco, Reibert, Springles, Petruo, Mikenana, and Hitch/Marlowe. (The first chapter is Hitch/Marlowe centric). Rating is M for language.  
**

* * *

"Say, don't you know some of these Survey Corps people?" Hitch asks lightly, tugging her rifle over her shoulder. The air, bloated with cold, presses down on them as they walk through the stone streets behind Wall Sina. Her hair does not like this weather—it wilts. Hitch scowls as she catches her reflection in a window.

Annie's shoulders stiffen.

"Really, Hitch?" Marlowe asks.

"Really what?" Hitch purrs, spinning on her heels to look back at his face, as solemn as ever, but with the slight differences she's grown to recognize over the past few months: the creases between his brow that means he's concerned, the crinkle next to his lips that means he's annoyed and not in a pleasant way.

"You know perfectly well that she was part of the 104th division," Marlowe states, his gaze darting to their shirt, blond companion. Not that Annie looks back at them.

Hitch is frustrated. Annie's the only one of the 104th top ten that actually joined the Military Police, and when Hitch asked Annie why, all she would say was " _Trost,"_ and then she clamped her mouth shut, wouldn't talk about it.

 _But if she doesn't talk about it, how will she get better?_ Hitch wonders.

"So, you're just trying to provoke her," Marlowe says, brushing past Hitch to join Annie. She barely glances at him.

His disapproval rankles Hitch. "Well, it'd bother me if I had to go spy on people who used to be my friends!" she hollers before she catches up with them. "But maybe Annie's different." She nudges Annie's shoulder.

"I'll do what we have to do," Annie says blandly.

 _Damn, Annie, can't you show some sort of emotion?_ Hitch sometimes wants to shake her roommate. At least the brief moments when Annie's pissed off she knows that Annie's human. She cackles.

"Why is everything a joke to you, Hitch?" Marlowe grouses.

"You're not," Hitch says, needling. Annie's eyes, crystal blue, cut to her. "After all, I bet you wouldn't know a joke if it danced in front of you naked."

Marlowe's face flushes beet red.

"For real?" Hitch rolls her eyes. _Thanks for proving my point, dork_.

Annie almost looks as if she's going to smile, but of course she doesn't.

Hitch opens her mouth, and then stops, because something blue and gray catches her eye. "Ooh, look!" She grins back at her roommate. "This color would look great on you, Annie."

Annie peers in the shop window. Dresses, one royal blue and shining like a gemstone, dangle to catch the consumer's eye. "Or you."

"Did you _compliment_ me?' Hitch gasps, her hands flying to her cheeks. "Say it ain't so."

Annie narrows her eyes. "You would."

"Eh, green's more my color," Hitch comments.

Marlowe stands behind them, baffled and tapping his rifle against the ground. A gaggle of children race by.

"Where are they going?" Annie asks.

"Toy shop," Hitch says, nodding. "I've heard of Fischer's. They sell, like the most expensive toys in Wall Sina. I once asked my dad for a doll from here. He laughed."

"As if you could afford it," Marlowe says reproachfully.

"It wasn't _new_ , idiot," Hitch retorts. "There was one girl in our district, Elena, and she was rich and had grown out of it and her parents were selling it for a lesser price." But her father wasn't wrong to laugh, Hitch figures. They did need the money for food, for clothes. Practical clothes, although her father was so obsessed with saving that he wouldn't let her or her mother spend money on anything deemed excessive. Only the most drab of outfits, but Hitch knew it had nothing to do with being concerned for their futures and everything to do with maintaining whatever control he could have over them.

He hadn't been happy when she joined the military. _"But you watch," she told him. "I'll make something of myself." I'll have the life you never could._

"Sounds like a good man," Marlowe says, and Hitch could stomp on his rigid foot.

"We have a place to go," Annie says tiredly.

"Did you ever play with anything, Annie?" Hitch asks. "When you were growing up?"

Annie kicks a pebble. It skips over the stones. "I didn't have time." The way she presses her lips together convinces Hitch she's not going to say anything else.

"And you, Marlowe?" Hitch presses, turning back to him. "Let me guess. You played all sorts of cops and robbers games, except whenever someone cheated, you raised a big stink and the other kids got all—"

Marlowe's face blooms scarlet. He stares at his boots and swears.

"Well, you didn't have to admit to it," Hitch says with a shrug. "So, Annie. Will we get to meet this idiot you spoke of? The one whom Marlowe reminds you of?"

"Probably," Annie confirms.

"Name?" Hitch wheedles.

"He's the Titan shifter. Eren."

"I remind you of a _Titan_ human person?" Marlowe splutters.

"Don't take it personally," Hitch tells him, her hand grazing his shoulder. "Must mean you're powerful. And strong. And—what else, Annie?"

"Stupid. Thinking you can change the world," Annie puts in.

 _Hooray for playing along!_ Hitch gives Annie a thumbs-up. Annie gives Hitch an awkward smile.

"Better to be that than be cynical like you or someone who plays the system like Hitch," Marlowe retorts.

 _Is that really what you think of me?_ Hitch scowls.

Because as much as she claims she doesn't care—and she doesn't exactly, because she wants to live, she doesn't want just to survive—she wants a _good_ life—she also wants Marlowe to understand.

* * *

"Are you for real?"

The voices from the stables hit Marlowe, sending sweet relief coursing through him. His knuckles ache, chapped, and his fingers are stiff with cold. Hitch's teeth chatter, but she refused his jacket when he offered it.

"Why not?" gushes a voice, sweet and androgynous. "I think it's a great idea, and Commander Erwin is so interested in exactly this kind of thing—"

"Um, because it's illegal?" comes the first voice, disgusted. Annie's nose crinkles.

"My grandfather's dead and his book is rotting back in Shiganshina," retorts the first voice. "It wouldn't make a difference—"

Annie surges forward, Marlowe's hand rises to stop her—this might be exactly what Zackley wants them to report on, illegal doings by the Survey Corps—but she's too fast. "Dammit," he growls.

"Come on." Hitch tugs him up, her nose red and scabbed with cold. "We can't—"

"What the hell?" erupts the first voice. A boy about their age charges at them.

"Annie!" Marlowe shouts, aiming his rifle. Hitch rushes at them.

Annie thrusts her leg out, sending the boy flipping over, cracking his head on the frozen grass. Her eyes find Marlowe's, her brows twitching as if to ask _were you really worried?_

"What the hell?" wheezes the boy again.

"Jean!" A blond kid, short and slight, darts towards them. He skids to a stop. " _Annie!"_

Annie's jaw hovers open for a moment, before she slams it shut and raises her hands.

"Annie?" questions Marlowe. Hitch looks terrified.

"Armin, we—"

"Oh my—it's really you!" He springs at her, throwing his arms around her. Annie stands stiff, and then her arms collapse over Armin's shoulders as if she's trying to hug him back but doesn't quite know how.

"Why?" Jean complains, hauling himself to his feet.

"These are my friends," Annie says, and it's such a strange label, not exactly true and not exactly a lie. "Hitch Dreyse, my roommate, and Marlowe Freudenberg."

"Well, you need to come inside!" Armin declares. "It's _frigid_ out tonight. Eren'll be happy to see you—I think—"

But Marlowe's teeth start to chatter now, and Armin shakes his head and gestures for them to follow. Marlowe blows on his hands and sees, in the silver moonlight, Hitch's face starting to drain. And he knows what she's thinking.

 _We're not supposed to be_ friendly _with people we're supposed to report on._

It's dishonest, isn't it, this whole thing? The fact that the Military Police is determined to spy on another segment of the military? Marlowe's conscience prickles. He rubs the back of his neck and regrets it. _Cold_.

He can't remember it ever having been so cold in his life.

"Eren! Mikasa!" Armin calls as they duck inside and warmth floods Marlowe, releasing his shoulders and elbows and spine from the tight knots they've worked themselves into. A tall boy, huge and blond, appears, followed by an even taller boy with brown hair.

" _Annie_ ," says the blond in surprise.

"Reiner," she says without a smile. "Bertolt."

"The high and mighty military police have graced us with their presence?" gasps an older man, staggering towards them. He clutches his mouth as if he's bitten his tongue.

"Oruo," scolds a redheaded woman. "Don't insult them."

"We have several days of leave," Annie recites their lie, and Marlowe's grateful she's the one doing it, even if it should be him.

What goes into justifying a lie—justifying himself? In the mazes of Military Police logic, Marlowe feels like he's getting lost.

"And I wanted to visit my friends."

Armin's face breaks out into a smile, but another boy—dark-haired and scowling, raises an eyebrow. The Asian girl next to him crosses her arms.

"This is Eren, and Mikasa," Annie introduces. "I know you're not scheduled for another expedition for two months." A break in their schedule, on decree of Zackley. He's suspicious. Of what, Marlowe doesn't entirely understand.

" _Don't we need to—" he'd tried to ask._

" _No! You need to_ obey _," snapped Nile Dok, although he seemed to have misgivings too. But like the rest of the Military Police, he would do whatever gave him the most benefit._

Eren, the idiot she mentioned. The Titan boy. He doesn't look threatening, Marlowe notes. Not very tall. The girl next to him, on the other hand—she looks like she could kill them all without flinching.

"It's so cold," the redhead says to them.

"Perfect for Christmas," Armin says excitedly.

Jean groans.

"For what?" Marlowe asks, confused.

"Nothing," a boy with freckles cuts in.

"You can stay for the night," the redhead tells them. "Tomorrow, Erwin will contact the Military Police."

"We _are_ on leave," Hitch says in disgust. "Do you really think we'd desert and show up in another—"

"We'll see," Oruo tells them.

Four others head over to them—a brunette who offers them some bread and a short boy with a shaved head who laughs at everything whether it's funny or not, a tiny blond girl who looks like an angel and a tall girl who slings her arm over the blond girl's shoulders. _Sasha, Connie, Christa, Ymir_.

"I can't believe you guys seriously want to celebrate a long-dead holiday," Ymir complains.

" _Ymir_ ," hisses Christa.

"I'm pretty sure it's illegal too," Ymir continues, watching Marlowe, Hitch, and Annie as if she expects them to squeal. Sweat beads the back of Marlowe's neck. Hitch takes a defiant bite of bread. "Isn't it? Celebrating a holiday from the outside world?"

"I—wouldn't know," Marlowe tells her. "It might be more—bending the rules."

Annie rolls her eyes. Hitch studies him, and Marlowe wants to kick the mug he's been drinking from into the fire. _Damn it, damn this, damn me!_

Sometimes he doesn't recognize himself—not in a mirror, where he looks the same as ever, but in his thoughts, in the new patterns taking over his mind, in the ways of thinking he's so long judged in others and now wonders how much anyone can resist. Corruption is less about a few people and more about a virus infecting an entire culture, he's finding, and he's frightened that one day he'll look back and he won't remember how he got to be just like them, and he'll see that the Military Police is just as corrupt as it was when he joined them, and his life will have meant nothing.

"What is Christmas?" Hitch questions, leaning forward. She widens her eyes as if she's flirting, and Marlowe's stomach sours.

"Um—" Armin bites his lip. "Before—it was a holiday where people would celebrate the birth of their God, and it was a celebration of love and peace and where people would give each other gifts, decorate with trees, etc. It's on December 25."

"Isn't that Captain Levi's birthday?" Mikasa asks.

Eren groans.

"It's about celebrating by showing the good that is in humanity—kindness, generosity—and celebrating hope, too," Armin says. "This God supposedly came to save humanity from death."

"Where is he now?" jokes Connie.

"I think Eren thinks he's the reincarnation," Jean remarks.

"Shut up," Eren says, curling his fists. "Peace isn't my method."

"The book Erwin has has all sorts of stories and traditions, and recipes—" Armin starts.

" _Recipes?"_ Sasha shrieks, her eyes lighting up. Marlowe cringes.

 _Book_. Hitch jabs him in the ribs. Annie remains impassive.

 _This is exactly the kind of information Zackley's after._

* * *

"Well," says Commander Erwin, crossing his arms as he looks down at the three of them. He's a handsome man, but intimidating. Hitch squirms. She didn't sleep well that night, despite the warmth, and judging from the circles under his eyes, neither did Marlowe. Annie, it's impossible to tell.

"Yes?" Hitch squeaks.

"A messenger arrived from the Military Police an hour ago."

"Saying that we're on leave," Marlowe supplies.

"Yes, but also requesting that Freudenberg and Dreyse be sent back at once. Leonhart is welcome to stay for a week." Erwin rests back on his desk.

"What?" Hitch yelps. "Why?"

Marlowe's jaw hangs open. Annie doesn't even look surprised.

 _Did you arrange for this, Annie?_ Hitch wonders. She actually likes some of the people they met last night—not that idiot, Eren, but the others. Christa. Sasha. Marco. Reiner.

"Did he happen to say why?" Marlowe ventures.

Erwin's eyebrows, huge and bulky, shift up his forehead. Good grief, he's pretty much what Hitch imagines Marlowe will be in twenty years, or would want to be, minus the blond hair. "Just that you're needed."

 _Why do they trust Annie more than they trust us_?

"Did you know about this?" Marlowe asks Annie as they leave Commander Erwin's office.

"No." Annie doesn't look at them.

"Is this because you work better by yourself?" Hitch demands.

Annie spins around to face them, her blond bangs flying in front of her eyes.

"You _did_ know," Hitch accuses. "Dammit, Annie, can't you see that sometimes we want to work with you? That you're not invincible and we'd like to help you because we _like_ you?" She's trying to keep her voice down so no one will overhear, but fury cuts through anyways.

"Don't be ridiculous," Annie tells her, and Hitch wants to smack her roommate. _I_ care _, Annie! Can't you see that?_

Within an hour, she and Marlowe depart albeit with bread in their bags, Hitch dragging her heels. "That _bitch_. I can't believe she—"

"Don't call her that," Marlowe says reproachfully.

"She thinks she's better off alone, and I'm sick of it," Hitch vents. "She's not. And those are her friends."

"They seem like likable people," Marlowe agrees. "Even if they're breaking the law."

"Right, so she might _need_ us, our support," Hitch presses.

"She might not be there long. If we report that the Commander has that book…"

 _Christmas._ Were they stupid, to tell Hitch and Marlowe so much last night? Or do they really trust Annie so much? Or is it a trap? "Are we really going to say something, or wait for Annie's report?"

Marlowe halts, staring at her.

"Well?" Hitch presses. "Don't you think it's a little odd? That they were talking so openly about it? And if so—" _Annie could be in danger_.

"I don't know," Marlowe says weakly, squeezing the back of his scalp.

"Never thought I'd hear that answer from you," Hitch quips. "Maybe we should—instead—try to figure out a way to help her from back in Wall Sina."

"Unless we can develop telecommunication, that's a pointless endeavor."

"You use such huge words," Hitch disparages, before she suddenly bursts into laughter. "Wait. Were you making a _joke?"_

Marlowe's face is red again.

"You _were!"_ Hitch teases. "Aw. It wasn't bad." She swallows. "But seriously, we should consider how to—"

"I don't think it's possible."

"See, that's your problem," Hitch complains, throwing her hands in the air. "You always think inside the box. Your brain's so wrapped up in righteousness that you refuse to consider that there are other ways to the same end."

Marlowe tightens his fists. "Less _honorable_ ones. Which I'm not interested in."

"So ratting on people who gave us shelter for a night is honorable?" She smirks at him. "You're going to have to violate your conscience either way, aren't you?"

"Why does that make you happy?" he demands, almost as if she's hurt him.

 _How?_ Hitch's stomach flip-flips. They're approaching Wall Sina. Her legs ache, and her shoulder, from carrying this stupid rifle. "Well, maybe you should consider alternative ways to do the right thing. If the right thing's your endgame, is there a wrong way to go about it?"

"Yes," Marlowe retorts. "If you're hurting other people."

Hitch rolls her eyes. Frustration grows. "Right. So let's say I bribe someone with gold not to tell that I'm having an affair with my _single_ boss. I'm not hurting anyone, am I? And in having an affair, I'm actually somehow helping my family. So is it wrong, just because it's against the rules?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snaps.

 _Stop calling me that_. Hitch scowls. "Well, other people have different opinions of what the right thing is. And sometimes it's not so clear." Her voice catches. They pass through a checkpoint, the unicorn embroidered on their jackets giving them a pass. Their comrades nod in mutual respect.

 _For what?_ Hitch imagines Marlowe's thinking. Or maybe that's just what she's thinking.

"Hitch…"

She realizes that he's stopped, and she turns around.

"What are you saying?" he asks.

"I'm trying to convince you to help me figure out a way to help Annie," she answers, walking back towards him.

His Adam's apple bobs. "But, Hitch—"

"What?"

"Have you cheated the system before?"

"Duh. I joined the Military Police to cheat the system. A girl like me shouldn't have a good life, but damn, I'm going to have one anyways." Hitch smirks, clapping him on the shoulder.

"So is it true?" he asks her, eyes flashing.

Hitch takes a step back. Her pulse picks up pace, beating in her wrist, her neck. "Is _what_ true? I mean, I just told you—"

"What Boris said. When we'd just joined." Marlowe watches her in horror, as if the possibility had never occurred to him.

And now rage flashes. Hitch glares at him. Would it matter? Would a yes or a no make a difference? What right does he have to judge her regardless? And what right does she have to be upset no matter his answer? "What did Boris say?" she sneers. She'll make him say it, watch those terrible words roll right out through his pretty lips.

His eyes dart about the streets, at the people praying to the walls on the corner by the toy shop. _Crazy people,_ Hitch thinks. "That you got into the Military Police through dishonorable means."

" _What_ dishonorable means?" she prompts, tossing her hair.

"I don't—"

"No, Marlowe, if you're actually accusing me of something, then you better be able to put a name to it, don't you think? It's the _righteous_ thing to do." Her tone is a rifle itself, firing into Marlowe. She's never spoken to him so viciously. To anyone in the Military Police, really, or anyone except her father.

She half expects him to back down.

But he doesn't. "That you slept with someone to get in," he says, face red again, but eyes focused on her as if he wants to see her reaction.

And it stings more than she thought it would. "I can't believe _you_ , of all people, are asking me this," Hitch tells him, voice wobbling. "Don't I seem smart to you? Or do I seem weak in combat? What, exactly, makes you think that?"

His eyes narrow at her non-answer, but Hitch refuses to give him the satisfaction of a _yes_ or a _no_. "I—"

"You're an asshole," Hitch says, and to hell with it, she feels tears burning her eyes. "Screw you." And she spins and runs away, through the crowds of people, and he doesn't chase her.

* * *

 _I'm an idiot for sure._

Hitch disappears into a crowd, and Marlowe's legs finally work again. He barges after her, hollering her name.

But he can't spot her head of messy sandy brown hair.

He didn't mean to hurt her.

Regardless of the answer, what does it matter now? _What's the right thing to do_? If she said no, he would respect that. And if she said yes… she's not an incompetent policewoman by any means, and she's sixteen. That would have meant she would have been thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

The thought makes Marlowe want to vomit. He hates himself, in this moment more than any others.

 _Which of us is more righteous, Hitch?_ he wonders, staring at his hands, and the skin that's cracked from the cold, red and peeling. _Me with my cold rules, or you?_

He'll meet up with her in the barracks, Marlowe decides.

 _What if she won't forgive me?_

Marlowe hesitates, and ducks inside a shop. He still feels sick—his head pounds and his muscles feel strangely weak. _I'm sorry, Hitch._

He doesn't like being the wrong party.

 _Even if, by the letter of the law, you're right to report on the Survey Corps, do you want to risk hurting Annie?_

Not if it means experiencing this sticky feeling of grime coating his insides. Shame crushes his lungs, and it's hard to breathe.

He leaves the shop, mumbling as he talks to the cashier, and hurries towards the barracks.

"You came back," Hitch comments dryly. She sits on a bench about a block away, fiddling with the threads on her Military Police jacket.

"I wasn't going to run," Marlowe snaps.

"Well, good." She rises, still refusing to look at him, and it hurts more than he thought it would.

"Hitch—"

"What?" she snaps.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should never have—I'm sorry. You _are_ smart, and you are good in combat, and I shouldn't have—it was wrong, and there's no excuse, and I'm sorry. I _do_ trust you. With my life."

"Well, now look at you. Lying," Hitch remarks as she folds her arms. Her eyes sparkle though.

"I'm not lying," he insists. He does trust her. "And—you're right. Let's work out a way to help Annie. We'll tell them we heard nothing last night. But can you—"

"Do the talking?" Hitch supplies.

He nods.

"Yeah," Hitch agrees, her eyes bright now. _Is she crying?_ "Thank you."

It should absolve him, but it doesn't. _Dammit!_ "I bought you this," Marlowe calls out, holding out a bag.

Hitch bursts into laughter. "Oh, for the sake of the walls, Marlowe. You really are the real deal, aren't you?"

He can't quite figure out what she means, not in this context.

"Why?" Hitch asks, nose wrinkling.

"I wanted to apologize,' he repeats.

"You can't buy forgiveness, Marlowe. Or earn it." Hitch rolls her eyes, and he feels strangely ashamed again. But she takes the bag, and her mouth opens. "Oh _. Oh."_

"They are well made," he offers.

"What the hell am I going to do with a doll?" Hitch demands, but she's laughing, and there's something girlish and innocent about her laugh as she pulls it from the bag. "I'll call her Marla," she proclaims.

" _Hitch!"_

"Oh, look who's back early minus one," comments a voice. Boots clap against the cobblestones. "How did you get information so fast?"

"Annie's still there—we were summoned back," Marlowe answers, turning to face him.

"Did you fuck Commander Erwin for information?" Boris asks, snorting. Hitch's eyes narrow, and she clutches the doll against her chest.

 _Boris, you're a boar_. Something snaps and Marlowe lunges at him, his fist slamming into Boris's nose. The other boy screeches and tumbles backwards, onto his bottom.

Hitch's jaw dangles open.

"Say you're sorry," Marlowe orders him, kneeling down and grabbing Boris by the collar. "Say it."

"Marlowe—" Hitch starts.

Maybe she's about to thank him. Maybe she's about to say it doesn't matter. Maybe she's about to say it's true and she deserves it, and either way, whether it's true or not, Marlowe doesn't think Hitch deserves to have anyone doubt her like this. She's their colleague, and Marlowe's friend. He glares at Boris. "Well?"

"I'm sorry, Hitch," Boris mumbles.

"Thank you." Marlowe lets him go, and the boy schlepps off to the barracks. He looks back at Hitch, uncertain of what to say.

She slips the doll back into the bag. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Marlowe nods. "Let's go and lie."

"I'll go and lie. You be quiet." Hitch steps closer, and then wraps an arm around him. Marlowe inhales. She smells like cinnamon and day-old perfume. _Do you coat your jacket in the stuff?_

"Marlowe?" she asks.

"Hm?" He looks down at her.

She grasps him by the back of his head and presses her lips against his, and for a moment he panics— _is this her way of thanking me?—_ and then she pulls back, looking anxiously up at him, and he realizes she's worried he's thinking exactly what he is thinking. "Sorry."

His fingers rub his chin. _You really like me like that?_

"Let's go?" Hitch invites.

"Hitch, wait." He grabs her arm and pulls her close again. He's not very good, he knows, but his lips close over hers again, and she doesn't seem to mind. Her hand grips his shoulder, and when he pulls back, she presses her forehead against his. She's not short, but she's small, and he folds his arms over her.

He doesn't know how well Zackley will take their non-information, or how they'll be able to help Annie.

But he trusts that if there's any way, he and Hitch will figure it out.

Her hands pull back, taking his and squeezing as they walk towards the barracks.

* * *

 **Again, thank you for reading! Up next: Jeanmarco.**


	2. O Christmas Tree

"This is the dumbest idea ever," Jean gripes as he yanks on a pair of gloves.

"It's Armin's idea. It's not dumb," Eren snaps. Marco's eyes dart back and forth between them as if to ask _do I need to get involved?_

 _Not now_. Jean curls his fists. Several months after Trost, after joining the Survey Corps, and he still wants to punch Eren in the face every chance he gets. _You'd think being the monster you swore up and down to destroy would humble you a little!_ But no. This is Eren. Eren and humility go together like water and oil. Or so he'd vented to Marco a week ago, to which Marco replied, _"Like Jean and humility?_ " and he had no response.

"We have other things to focus on, guys," Marco reminds them now, glancing at Jean's fists as if to deter him.

 _I wasn't going to do anything._ Jean uncoils his hands.

Sometimes he still can't believe he wound up here, in the Survey Corps. He graduated sixth in his class (and will never forgive Eren for getting fifth), survived Trost, and had the future he'd always dreamed of open before him, something he worked long and hard to get the key to, and he couldn't unlock it.

Not when he kept seeing all the faces of the comrades who died. Hell, he didn't even _like_ most of them very much!

Jean shakes those thoughts off. "Yeah. We have to figure out why the Military Police is spying on us," he says, mostly to goad Eren.

"Annie's just trying to visit her friends," he snaps.

 _Sure_. He shrugs at Marco, who pinches his lips shut as if he's all too aware there's nothing he can possibly say to make the situation any better.

But Jean can always needle Eren a teeny bit more. "And she just happens to come as Erwin and Armin are planning on doing something illegal?"

"Annie saved Sasha and Connie," Eren points out, as if that one moment—that one salvation—ensures that Annie would never betray them. "You even told me about it."

Jean shrugs. It's strange to think that if the Military Police is indeed out to sabotage the Survey Corps, he might be on the other side if he'd just made a different choice.

But he made the choice he made. The moment Marco told him what he was choosing, Jean felt as if his priorities not so much shifted, but a light was shone on them and he knew, all along, that this was the path he was meant to take.

Even if he still curses Eren Jaeger for it.

"How large is this tree supposed to be anyways?" Jean asks grumpily, and Marco nods in relief.

"We're in charge of finding one that's ten feet," Marco says. "Eren, you and Mikasa—"

"Five feet," Eren proclaims. "We know."

Marco glances anxiously at his notes. "The book says pine trees, but Armin says any coniferous ones will do—"

"Don't worry so much." Eren claps Marco on the shoulder. "It'll be great." His face darkens, and Jean almost groans, because he knows what's about to come out of Eren's mouth. "Someday, we'll be able to find out more about the world before the Titans—when we kill them all. Armin wants to see the ocean."

"What's that?" Marco asks.

"It's like a lake, only saltwater and it stretches as far as your eye can see," Eren tells him.

Jean snorts. "That's bullshit."

"It isn't. Armin told me. It was in a book his grandfather had… and hid." Eren folds his arms. "He told me about it right before that Colossal Titan appeared and smashed the wall down."

 _And your mom was eaten_. Since seeing Trost ransacked by Titans, Jean has a harder time being cavalier about it all. The idea of watching his mother, as annoying as he always complained he found her, eaten sickens him. He nods.

Bertolt passes by, neck craned down as if he's trying to make himself smaller. Which is impossible.

"I think the ocean sounds amazing," Marco says wistfully. "Hopefully we'll all live to see it."

"How about you, Bertolt?" Jean asks, reaching out to grasp his friend's shoulders. Bertolt jumps. "If we all survive somehow, and achieve Eren's dreams, do you want in on this visit to the ocean?"

Bertolt licks his lips. "I—"

"Even if it doesn't exist," Jean adds. "We can be hypothetical."

"Sure," Bertolt ekes out.

"What are we daydreaming about now?" Reiner asks, appearing. Bertolt's ever-present shadow.

"Visiting the ocean," Bertolt says.

"It's like a lake—" Eren starts.

"Sure," Reiner says quickly. "I'm in." He nods towards the window, where the sky churns like a deep gray puddle. "I heard Captain Levi predicting it'd snow and he told me that if any of us die chopping down Christmas trees instead of killing Titans, he'll see to it that our bodies are left to rot."

"Cheerful," Jean remarks, rolling his eyes. He snatches up an axe. "Ready, Marco?"

His friend smiles at him, freckles dotting his cheeks like cinnamon.

* * *

Sometimes Marco wonders if Jean resents him. If he hadn't joined the Survey Corps, would Jean have? And sometimes Marco resents himself—if Jean had just joined the Military Police, he'd be safer than he is here. Because even if they're not going on a mission this month, they will the next.

"You and Jean… alone in the woods, chopping down a tree together," a voice whispers in his ear. Marco jumps.

"Whoa! Just me." Reiner holds up his hands. They're deeper in the forest now. Eren and Mikasa rush off to take down a perfect tree Eren's claiming to have seen.

Marco rolls his eyes.

"Seems romantic is all," Reiner adds with a wink.

Heat creeps up the back of Marco's neck. "What the heck, Reiner?"

"From one unrequited lover to another." Reiner stares in front of them at Bertolt who stands in between two trees, waiting for them. Light spills over him, shrouding him in the glare. It's picturesque.

"Sorry," Marco tells him.

"There's hope for you," Reiner tells him, crossing his arms.

Marco's heart leaps. "You think so?" But no, he could never ask that of Jean. "He likes Mikasa."

"Dude, who doesn't? I mean, she's not Christa, but she's badass. Even if she's also kind of a bitch at times."

"Don't call her that," Marco says reproachfully.

"It was rude. I'm sorry." Reiner ducks his head.

"Well, enjoy chopping down a tree with Bertolt," Marco says with a grin.

Reiner flexes his biceps. They both laugh.

"What about this one?" Bertolt calls from up ahead. "Reiner?"

"Marco, I might have found one that'll work," Jean cuts in, jerking his head to the left. Marco traipses after him. Something wet lands on his nose. He startles.

"It's snowing," Jean breathes.

 _This_ is _romantic_ , Marco thinks as he breathes in the scents of spruce and fir. He glances over his shoulder, but the trees blot out any sight of Bertolt or Reiner. His heart picks up pace.

"Dammit, it's cold!" Jean scowls.

"I heard once that no two snowflakes are the same," Marco tells him.

"Really?" Jean snorts, holding out his palm as if to catch them on his gloves. "Interesting. Dammit, they're melting!"

"Maybe later," Marco says.

"How about this tree?" Jean nods at it.

"It's enormous," Marco comments.

"We can get it down, though," Jean says with the brash confidence Marco's always admired.

 _You're such a talented leader, and you don't even realize it_ , Marco thinks, taking in Jean's immaculately crafted hair, his sharp jawline.

"Well?" Jean demands, and Marco realizes he's been staring too long.

"It'll do," Marco allows.

"It'll be better than Eren's tree," Jean gripes, grasping the axe.

 _Oh, for the sake of the walls_. "Jean, why do you let him get to you like that?" Marco demands.

"No one likes feeling like they're a bad person," Jean retorts, slamming the axe against the tree. "His friends are great. Mikasa's cool, and Armin's smart and philosophical." _Thwack_. "But he's just so headstrong—he's right and everyone who disagrees with him, or dares to have different priorities, we're all trash." _Thwack_. "I didn't join the military to be considered trash. I joined to—"

"To join the military police," Marco says quietly. "To have a good life."

Jean pulls back. "Well—yeah. But after Trost…" He shrugs. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Really?" Marco asks—too hopefully. _What are you doing, Marco_? he yells at himself. "Let me take a turn." He steps up and grasps the axe.

"I want to succeed," Jean grumbles. "Here, now."

"How could you think you won't?" Marco asks. The axe scrapes against his skin, even with gloves on. The snow starts to fall harder, coating Jean's shoulders. He laughs. "Seriously, Jean, I told you you're a leader. I didn't make that up just to make you happy. You're a leader, and despite being rude sometimes—and touchy when it comes to a certain comrade of ours—you're really compassionate, maybe more so than most leaders. But I think that's what humanity might need."

Jean scowls. "Is this your way of trying to compliment me into being nice to Eren?"

"I don't know what you mean." It's not—he means every word—but Marco can't help but grin.

"Let me get that." Jean takes the axe from a panting Marco. "So—"

Marco walks a few steps away, gulping in the sweet air. And then he realizes what Jean's doing, and fear spikes through him like lightning down his spine. "Jean, you have to start from the other side!" Marco yelps. "It's going to—"

But it's already cracking. Jean freezes, his mouth opening in a slight 'o.'

"Move!" Marco lunges at him as Jean drops the axe. He pushes Jean back—his foot catches—his cheek strikes the earth, colder and harder than it should be— _a stone?—_ and something heavier than he'd ever imagined cracks down on his shoulder. He's not sure what hits first—the pain like an explosion, right in his side, or the needles stabbing at his face, at his eyes, or the snapping of what he knows have to be bones, the nausea—and that lasts only for a second, a white second, and then everything's black.

* * *

"Marco!" Jean screams.

Every limb hangs heavy. His mind can't comprehend the image of his friend crumpled on the ground, the trunk of an enormous pine tree pinning his shoulder.

Jean scrambles to his knees— _Marco pushed me, pushed me out of the way_ —and grabs Marco's free arm. It's limp, but as Jean bends closer, he can make out Marco's breaths.

" _Help!"_ Jean bellows as snow continues to pelt them. It stings his nose. "Someone! We need help!" _Reiner, Bertolt, Eren… Mikasa. Anyone._ "I'm going to get you out of here, Marco," he promises, voice catching. Blood stains Marco's shoulder. "You're gonna be all right. I promise." He stands, shuffling over to the tree. He presses his own shoulder against the trunk, trying to lift it. He cries out. _I can't do it._

 _I can't do it!_

" _Help!"_ Jean screams again.

"Jean?" Eren charges between branches, slashing them with his blades. Mikasa rushes behind him. "Oh, shit! What happened to him?"

"What does it look like?" Jean shouts. "A tree fell on him!" _Because I was an idiot!_

"Jean, take that side," Mikasa instructs, sheathing her blades. "Eren, you hold Marco. If he starts bleeding, stop it."

"Um, how?"

"Just stop it!" Mikasa snaps as she leaps over the trunk. "Are you ready?" She's looking at him, this girl he's admired for so long. Tears blur Jean's eyes. _Marco_.

He nods.

"Good." She clears her throat. "He'll be all right, Jean."

 _You don't know that._ Jean bites down the retorts as he strains. Mikasa grunts, but with her help, the tree lifts. Marco doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. Jean bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood, metallic and sharp.

"And down," Mikasa pants, dropping the tree.

Jean flies to Marco's side. "Not much bleeding," Eren tells him. "His shoulder's shattered, though. We need to get him back." Eren's voice shakes, and in that moment, Jean could hug him. _We hate each other, but you care about Marco._ And for this, Jean can forgive Eren everything.

"At least not surface bleeding," Mikasa says softly. "He's definitely got some broken ribs." She crouches down. "Eren, give me your cloak."

Eren hands it over, and she gently rolls Marco back over. He's still so gray, so still, and snow falls on his face, covering his freckles. A gash mars one cheek, and snowflakes dissolve the second they hit it. Mikasa ties the cape around his shoulder, creating a sort of sling.

"Hey!" Reiner shouts. "What's going—" His voice trails off. "Holy shit!"

"We're going to need your help," Mikasa says. "Bertolt, Eren, you're the fastest runners. Go and get a medical officer, get a stretcher. We can't lift him like this. We'll just hurt him more."

Reiner nods, and Bertolt glances at Eren. They both take off, running through the snow and vanishing into the trees.

"I'm so sorry, Marco," Jean ekes out, a tear running down his face. He wipes angrily at it and crouches by his friend's head. "You'll be all right."

"What happened?" Mikasa asks again.

"I—he shoved me out of the way," Jean admits. _Marco, Marco, please!_ This hollowed-out, black fear—he's never felt this way, not even in Trost. It's the gnawing agony of maybe losing something he doesn't even fully understand yet, but something he knows is precious, is irreplaceable.

He looks at Mikasa, and remembers her in Trost, when she thought Eren had died.

"'Course he did," Reiner snorts.

"Huh?" Jean glares at Reiner.

"I mean, he's in love with you," Reiner states.

Mikasa sucks in her breath. Jean's jaw drops. "What are you getting at, Reiner?"

"Are you blind?" Reiner asks him. "Marco. Is. In love. With you. Jean-boy."

 _Stop with that blasted nickname!_ Jean curls his fists.

Marco's eyelids flutter. A guttural moan seeps through his lips.

"Marco!" Jean leans over him, but Marco only twitches and then gags.

"Jean—" Mikasa starts, but he's there, supporting Marco's shoulder as they roll him onto his left side to vomit.

"No blood," Reiner says. "I think his lungs are okay."

"You're gonna be okay, Marco," Jean promises. "Eren and Bertolt went to get help, okay? Just hang in there a little longer. They're getting a med officer. They'll have something for your pain." He hopes. And he doesn't even know, at this point, if he's promising Marco, or if he's promising himself.

 _He is in love with you._

Marco's eyelids drift shut again, and Jean meets Reiner's gaze. _Is it true?_

 _Why wouldn't he tell me?_

He looks down at his friend, the best friend he's ever had, maybe the only friend he's ever let so close to him. He watches his chest struggle to rise and fall through the pain, and Jean takes Marco's left hand, the uninjured one, and squeezes it between his own.

He cries.

* * *

Dreams fade in and out, with a strange undercurrent to all of them. In one, Eren and Jean are yelling at each other, but Hange's there too, and Reiner and Mikasa, and they're all bickering about how cold it is. And in another, Reiner tells Jean Marco loves him and Marco sinks away, into an ocean that's made of snow, but also water, and it spreads from here until the horizon, and it's dragging him out, out, out, towards the horizon and away from Jean.

Something pungent stings his nostrils. His shoulder feels as if it's been stomped by a Titan. A strange melody, one he doesn't recognize but is impossibly cheerful, pries his brain open.

 _Where am I?_

 _This isn't a dream_.

Marco cracks his eyes open. The snow ocean swims in front of him for a moment, until he realizes it's the ceiling. Something heavy and woolen lies over him, tickling his bare chest.

And he can't move his right shoulder at all. He twitches his fingers.

 _The tree._

 _Jean._

 _Jean!_

"Marco!" His voice, anxious. Marco turns his eyes upwards. His face crosses into Marco's vision.

"Oh, so he's awake now?" Hange's voice, bright and cheery. "Glad to hear it." She appears above him, glasses slightly askew. She taps his nose. "You gave your friends quite a scare."

"What happened to me?" Marco croaks out.

"Jean, get him some water," Hange orders. "A tree fell on you."

"Oh. I mean—I know, but—"

"You fractured six ribs, possibly one of your vertebrae as well, and your humerus too. And you dislocated the joint." Hange sighs. "Nothing fatal, according to the medics who treated you. You'll get better. Don't worry."

"Does this mean Captain Levi is going to leave my body to rot?" Marco rasps. _Felled by a tree, not a Titan._ At least he's not dead.

"You'd have to die first, and I told him I wouldn't let you, so no," Hange responds as Jean appears.

"Here." Jean crouches at Marco's bedside, offering him a glass with a straw. Marco takes a sip of the water, which soothes a throat he hadn't even realized was parched.

"How long have I been—"

"It's been just under a day," Hange tells him.

"Did anyone get the tree?" Marco asks, and Hange bursts into laughter. Jean's lips curve upwards into that wry smile Marco likes so much.

"Eren, Mikasa, Armin, and Annie went to retrieve it," Hange says. "It snowed quite a bit last night, though."

"Really?"

"Everything's covered," Hange confirms. "And it's supposed to snow more tonight. It's already falling."

Marco looks to Jean.

"Last night it fell so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of you," Jean adds.

"Wow." Marco's impressed.

"I'll leave you two to talk." Hange gets to her feet. "And get you something to eat, Marco. Nothing too solid—but you can probably handle some soup."

His stomach churns as if to agree. Hunger and nausea knock against each other, battling for control. Hunger wins. His stomach growls.

"Marco—" Jean starts, and then his voice breaks, and he covers his face as if he's ashamed.

Alarm courses through Marco. "Jean?"

"I'm so _sorry_ ," Jean manages, curling his fists. "I should have—I was blathering like an idiot, and if you hadn't said anything—"

It would have killed Jean. "It's okay," Marco reassures him, reaching over with his left arm. He can just graze the tips of Jean's hair. "I'm glad it's not you here."

Jean drops his hand and peers at him.

"What?" Marco asks, confused. He's never seen this expression on Jean's face before. Something squirms in his mind.

Jean shakes his head. "So you forgive me?"

"Jean, there's nothing to forgive," Marco snaps. "You'd have done the same for me."

"In truth, I don't know I'd have seen the tree falling."

Marco snorts, and then grimaces as red-hot pain shoots through his side, settling in his shoulder. Laughing is a no, for now.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Jean asks.

"No." It's a lie, and Jean's eyes narrow.

"My arm feels like it's been chewed up and then lit on fire," Marco admits.

"Hange will get the med people to give you something when she gets back." Jean curses. "I'm a terrible nurse."

Marco rolls his eyes.

"Eren and the others will want to see you."

"So you actually worked with him to get me back?" _Don't laugh!_ he chastises himself. He settles for a grin.

"You're kind of worth it to me," Jean says. "Even worth _that."_

"Jean!"

"What?" Jean smirks, and then his smile fades away, as if there's something lurking on the tip of his tongue.

"What is it, Jean?" Marco ventures. His cheek throbs. Does he have a wound there, too? "Please don't feel guilty—I don't want you to—"

"No, it's not that," Jean interrupts. His eyes dart around the simple room, taking in what must be a small window behind Marco, the simple wooden walls, the green blanket covering him. "It's just—Marco— _dammit_ , my timing sucks—"

"What's going on?" Marco demands. "Are you okay?"

" _Yeah_. Just—" Jean looks at his boots, and his face blooms red as he spits out the words so fast Marco has a hard time deciphering them, but the dread shafting his heart tells him the worst: " _Reinertoldmeyou'reinlovewithme."_

 _No._ His head swims.

 _Reiner, why?_ Marco wants to howl. He probably assumed he was helping—or maybe it just happened in a moment of panic. Still, his heart feels like it's sticking to his ribs, unable to fully beat, left quivering. "Oh." His voice sounds small, but he doesn't know what to say.

"Is it true?"

Marco forces himself to look Jean in the eye. He's so earnest right now, eyes wide. "Yes," he whispers.

Jean's hand flies up to his head. He drags it through his hair, letting out his breath. "Okay. Okay."

"I'm sorry," Marco blurts out. "I just—I know you don't feel that way, Jean, I _know_ about Mikasa—" _So does everyone_. "—but I don't just think of you in that way. You're my friend, too, you know, and all the things I've said to you—they weren't attempts to get you to like me or any of that. I said them because they're true. You're a good leader and a good friend and a compassionate—"

Jean gapes at him. "Marco, _stop."_

 _What?_ Now Marco's bewildered. He never pictured Jean getting mad—embarrassed, maybe, but not mad.

Jean leans over him, and his lips meet Marco's, warm and sweet, gentle. He pulls Marco's lips into his own mouth, and Marco can't quite believe this is happening. _Is it another dream? Am I hallucinating?_ "Jean—" he stammers.

"I love you," Jean tells him, his hands pressed against Marco's cheeks, one thumb on the gauze covering a laceration, one running along his line of freckles.

"But what about Mikasa?" Marco presses.

"I love _you_ , Marco," Jean states, firmer this time. He hesitates, and then leans in again. This time, Marco takes Jean's lips in his, exploring Jean's mouth with his own.

Hadn't he always dreamed of this?

It's real. When Hange clears her throat and Jean pulls back, Marco's grinning. And Jean—he's not embarrassed. Not at all.

"He needs more pain meds," Jean says to Hange.

"Oh, does he?" Hange moves closer, handing over a bowl of steaming broth. "I'll get some. Also, you have a lot of friends gathering up outside, begging to see you."

"They can come in," Marco says, his heart singing. _Jean_ likes _me. Jean loves me_.

As if to confirm, Jean takes Marco's injured hand and just holds it, not squeezing, just letting Marco's palm and fingers rest in his own.

"Dude! I'm so glad you're okay!" Connie bursts out as he bursts into the room, Sasha on his heels. Reiner and Bertolt, Christa and Ymir. Even Commander Erwin sticks h is head in, only to give a wave and head off.

"Where are Eren, Mikasa, Armin, and Annie?" Marco asks.

Reiner swallows.

"Reiner?" Marco asks, his voice edgy. Reiner ducks his head.

"Armin and Annie were supposed to be back an hour ago. They haven't returned. Eren and Mikasa are helping look—"

"Annie did something," Jean breathes.

"Jean," Marco tries.

"You know it and I know it! She's not here just to visit old friends." Jean shakes his head. "We _have_ to find Armin."

For the first time, Marco hears someone whistling. Not someone. Something. The wind.

He meets Jean's gaze and knows they share the same fear.

 _Where are they?_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Up next: Aruani.**


	3. Snow Angel

" _See if you can get her to talk," Erwin told Armin, and his heart leaped._

Erwin is everything Armin wants to be, and encouragement from him ignites determination. He actually believes Armin can do this; he's entrusting Armin with this task—he believes that he has potential, just like Eren and Mikasa do.

 _Even though it's Annie…_ Armin's stomach pinches. He doesn't like tricking Annie, of all people. He passes through the corridors of the headquarters, weaving his way towards the door.

 _But to accomplish anything, you have to be willing to sacrifice everything, even humanity_ , Armin reminds himself.

"Is Marco okay?" Annie asks as he finds her leaning against the wall, wearing her typical bored mask. A chill seeps in through the door, even though it's shut tightly.

Armin nods. "He'll recover."

"Good." She offers him the tiniest of smiles, and it's moments like these when Armin's heart aches, and he wants to grab her and shake her and demand to know why she's spying on them, why the Military Police is so against them, and who is behind it all.

But he knows Annie. She won't volunteer that information willingly. His mind skips several conversations ahead, plotting out what he'll need to say.

"Ready to go?" Annie asks, prying herself off the wall.

"You know you don't need to help," Armin tells her. "You're supposed to be on your leave."

Annie shrugs. "I'm imagining what it'd be like if I'd joined the Survey Corps."

 _Huh?_ Armin's never pictured Annie as one for imagination. "Do you regret it?" he blurts out.

"I don't see the point in regrets. Things are what they are," Annie says.

 _And yet you're visiting us_. Armin bites his lip.

"It'll look nice," Annie comments, gesturing to the pile of pine needles on the floor to make garland, the red velvet. "Festive."

Armin nods. "I think so."

"Was it your idea?" Annie asks, pushing the door open. Cold smacks Armin in the face, burns inside his ears. "Or Commander Erwin's?"

 _You aren't being that subtle. Are you even trying?_ Armin wonders. His nose stings.

"Hey!" Eren runs up to them, Mikasa behind him. Her scarf covers half her face today, and Armin's almost envious. Snow seeps in through his boots, numbing his toes. "Ready to go?"

"Mikasa can probably drag that tree back by herself," Annie comments.

Mikasa's eyes narrow, as if she's not sure whether Annie's making fun of her or being nice. Armin presumes she's just stating the obvious.

"Marco should be able to light it on fire," Annie adds, voice bitter.

Armin doesn't know what to say. The only sounds that echo are their boots crunching through the snow.

"It's strange to put so much effort into something jovial for once," Mikasa comments quietly.

"It feels like a distraction," Eren grumbles. "Fun, but a distraction. Hey, Annie, you don't know why the Survey Corps isn't allowed another expedition this month, do you?"

"A lot of people died on the last one," Annie responds. "And in Trost."

"Which is nothing new," Eren points out. "I mean, we haven't even been able to leave yet. I haven't been able to use my ability…"

"And you want to?" Annie presses, crossing her arms. Armin listens, his heart pounding.

"Of course. I can destroy them all," Eren vows. Snow starts to fall again, heavy like yesterday, big fat flakes.

Annie's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She marches ahead, head down. They arrive at the tree, and Mikasa and Eren hoist it up.

"We can gather some boughs," Armin tells Annie as they realize they're useless. "If you want."

She nods, continuing on in the forest. "All this came from a book?"

Armin's breath hitches. "Yes."

"What else was in this book of the commander's?" Annie questions. She turns around to glance at him, bangs swinging.

"Just… things about traditions," Armin says. He keeps from her the fact that it wasn't the commander's book, it was his, and it's back in Shiganshina. "Winter traditions. Ice skating—putting blades on your feet and sliding over frozen lakes; snow fights, traditional foods and decorations—a lot of songs, beautiful ones—"

"Snow fights?" Annie questions. "I thought you said it was a celebration of peace." She kicks at the snow, as if it this revelation makes her angry.

"Well, it was for fun," Armin says. "Fighting for fun."

"How?" she asks, and Armin hates himself for this, but dammit, he can't turn off himself from humanity. Not right now.

"Like this," he says, kneeling down and packing snow together in his hand.

"Hm?" She peers over his shoulder, and he tosses the snow into her face. She gasps.

"Sorry," he stammers. "Snowballs—"

Annie narrows her eyes, and then she scoops up an armful and dumps it over his head. Armin squeaks, grasping more snow even as he shakes it out of his eyes. He throws them at her, but she hits him with another one in the face.

And then she's gone, vanishing into the trees and falling snow.

"Annie?" he calls, stepping forward, around one of the pine trees. The air smells wet, and dank. His pulse picks up pace. What if the Military Police—

Something hits him in the side. _Annie_. She knocks him on his back, in the snow, and he barely has time to gulp in air before he realizes that she's straddling him, a snowball in her hand, and her hand raised above him. And she's smiling—or she was. It slides off her face as if she's just realized that she scared him.

"Sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be," Armin tells her. "You're in it to win."

Annie's lips curve again, and she makes no move to get off him. Snow seeps through his jacket, through his hair, but his face flushes warm.

"Have you heard of snow angels?" he asks as she finally slides off.

"No."

"They look like this," Armin tells her, waving his arms and legs through the snow. She snorts, as if he looks silly. But when he gets up and they both take in the angelic shape, Annie actually grins.

"You can't tell the Military Police," Armin tells her as she makes one of her own. "Come on. Let me show you something."

"What?" She hesitates.

"Just past here," Armin says, stepping back into the trees. The snow comes harder, and Annie hesitates. "Annie?"

"Are you trying to trick me?" she demands abruptly. "What's back there?"

"A hill," Armin tells her. _She knows_. "For sledding." His heart thumps, and in the silent forest, he almost imagines that she can hear it. _Have Eren and Mikasa gone back?_

"What?" Annie's face falls. "Oh. I—sorry." She shuffles closer to him.

"You don't always have to assume the worst, you know," Armin says. His pulse still pounds, and he wants it to slow down, wants to feel calmer, wants to be wheedling information out of anyone but Annie.

"Sometimes, you do," Annie says.

"You can trust friends," Armin tells her, and as he says it, guilt slams into his stomach. _I'm sorry, Annie._

"Do I really look like that kind of person to you?" Annie asks. "A good person?"

"Well…" Armin gulps. "I don't really like that term. A good person, to me, seems to be someone who's good _for_ you. And I don't think any one person can be good for everybody."

She looks to him, eyes sharp, twisting the glove around one of her fingers.

 _You're not going to be good for us, are you?_ Armin thinks. _And then we can't be good for you._

But oh, how he wants to, especially when she steps closer to him and he sees the snow beading her blond hair. "Let's see that hill."

* * *

The snow's pelting them now, and Annie can hear different voices bickering inside her head, screaming at her: Zeke's, her father's… Reiner's, even.

 _What are you doing?_ Annie shivers. Her lips ache from the cold, and her cheeks from smiling and laughing, like she hasn't ever except in dreams.

 _How did I become a spy for two organizations?_ she wonders. For the first, she knows: she had the right qualities, the perfect strengths to master the Titan powers. For the Military Police… maybe they can simply tell she's good at keeping secrets.

 _A good person…_

She wants to be a good person to Armin. He's the first person who's ever told her she's actually pretty nice, not a bitch. She doesn't want to get him in trouble—and for what? For wanting to learn?

 _If your first bet pays off, what will it matter? He'll die anyways. He and everyone else who's a part of this cursed history._

She doesn't want him executed. If Armin has to die, it shouldn't be like that.

But she doesn't want him to die at all. The people in the Walls—they really don't know. They're innocents.

Like she could have been… but she has so much blood on her hands.

"We should head back," Armin tells her, his teeth chattering. She nods. Both of them are soaked to the bone and the snow's only coming down harder. _So much for the boughs._

"How many more days will you be staying?" Armin inquires. Annie jumps back as a branch swings too close to her face. The wind's really picking up, and the needles stab her face. _Ouch_.

"I should leave tomorrow," she says. _See Marlowe and Hitch again…_ and give her report to Zackley. Yes, Commander Erwin is involved in illegal activities. Like hosting a celebration. God knows these people don't have much to celebrate—ever. _What's the harm?_

But Hitch and Marlowe will have already told, she's certain.

"So you won't be around for Christmas?" Armin inquires.

"How often do you get days off?" Annie retorts. "Of course not."

"Are you thinking that the rest of us would be in prison or dead?" Armin asks, and the words slap Annie.

 _You know_.

She glares at him, hoping he'll prove her wrong—that there's some other way to interpret his words, and there's not. He looks back at her, as if hoping for the same thing, but— _there's no reassurance we can offer each other, is there?_

 _Why does it have to be Armin_? Tears sting at the back of her eyes. "How long have—"

"Since you came, pretty much. We knew they'd be sending someone," Armin says. "Why, Annie? What—"

"Would it matter if I told you? If I even knew?" she asks, the wind stealing some of her words. She tries to shout, her hands tightening on her gear. She has her blades. "Would you care?"

"Of course I would!" he yells back at her.

"So you never thought I was a good person." She takes a step back. She should move towards him, but she can't, she can't. She can't hurt him, even if his answer is what she dreads.

Armin's jaw drops. "I _do!_ That's why I want to know—"

Annie throws her head back, laughing. "You do? Armin, do you know what will happen to you if I give a report to the Military Police? Forget eradicating the Titans. Saving your own skins would be impossible." She bites her lip, hard enough for pain and not heard enough to break the skin.

"Then don't give it!"

He says it like it's so simple, an obvious solution. Shit, he's _pleading_ with her—he cares—

Annie yanks her hands away from her gear, turning and dashing through the trees. Another branch smashes into her face, tearing at the skin.

"Annie!" she hears him bellow, and then all she can hear is the wind, all she can feel is numbness settling on her legs, weighing them down, and eventually she trips over a root and falls, face landing in the snow that should be softer than it is, and warm tears trickle down her face.

When she finally pries herself up, she can barely see. Everything's white, everything's wet—she takes a step and bumps into a tree.

 _Where am I?_ Panic courses down her spine. The Survey Corps could be behind her, brought down by Armin—she whirls, but she can't tell, she can't _see_.

"Hello?" she screams, pulling out her blades. She can barely handle that in the cold. Her hands shake, and she jams her blade back in.

 _Shelter_. She needs it, now.

 _Did Armin make it back to headquarters?_

 _How could he have?_

 _He's still out here_. Annie's stomach plummets. And he's so small…

"Armin!" she hollers, cursing herself, but she can't help it. He won't die on her watch. Not now. " _Armin!"_

Nothing, and she's frantically pushing herself back the way she came—at least she _thinks_ it's the way she came—branches tearing at her flesh, and what's scarier is that she can hardly feel the pain. Everything's so cold, so frozen. _"Armin!"_ she bellows, as loud as she possibly can. " _Armin!"_

"Annie?" It's a weak voice, trembling.

"Armin?" She reaches out and her hands clasp a sharp branch. She curses and drops to her knees, peering under a tree—and she can see him huddles there, a brown and green lump in the middle of the white.

* * *

"Where are we?" she asks desperately, crawling under. Her face is red and raw, and her lips as blue as his must be.

Armin shakes his head. "I can't see. If we head out—" His clattering teeth chip his tongue, and he spits out blood. "We're just as likely to head further away from headquarters than we are to head towards it." Breathing is painful—his nose feels as if everything inside is freezing into knives, scraping his sinuses. "Our best bet is staying under this tree."

Annie shakes her head.

"Eren and Mikasa might come," he offers.

"No, they won't," Annie answers, and he knows she's right. She crawls closer, and they both look at each other.

"We should—" he starts.

"I know," she says, shuffling closer, as if she can't bear the thought of being this close to him. Is it because of their roles, his with the Survey Corps, her with the Military Police? Armin wonders as her arms wrap around him and his wrap around hers. _Or is it because of me?_ he fears as her head presses against his, as she pulls her hoodie up, as her chest presses against his own. And he's so cold, but his body's more intoxicated with her closeness than he would have thought possible.

"Are we going to die?" she whispers.

"Maybe," he admits. He doesn't want to, though—stupid Christmas. He doesn't want Erwin to regret this celebration.

She snorts. "Armin—I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he ekes out.

"Don't you hate me?"

He shakes his head, because he knows it's true. "I assume you have your reasons."

She coughs, her chest shaking. He yanks his cloak around to cover them both, and holds her tighter. _This could last hours._

 _What's it like to die from hypothermia_? Armin wonders. He knows the process, but what does it actually _feel_ like? Which of them will go first?

 _Not Annie,_ Armin vows.

"I really did want to see you," Annie chokes out.

"Really?" he manages.

"Y-yeah. I—you're the first person who ever told me I was nice. I wanted to be nice to you. To be good to you. I'm—it's—my weakness."

"I don't know," Armin says miserably. "Because as much as I talk about how I want to leave behind humanity—and I do think you have to, especially when we're fighting creatures like the Titans—I want to be good to Eren, and to Mikasa. They protected me so many times—I couldn't—"

"From what?"

"Bullies," he admits." When you're weak like I am, you're an easy target."

"You're not weak," Annie snaps.

Armin cringes. "Annie, yes, I am."

"Your mind isn't. And I'd rather have a strong mind than a strong body. Both can be exploited, but if you have a strong mind, you're more likely to figure out a way out of it."

 _Are you trying to tell me you feel trapped_?

"You at least have the guts to stand up for what you believe in, and work for it. You and Eren both, even if he's a bit of an idiot about it." Annie shivers. They're both shaking uncontrollably.

"Why can't you?" Armin asks. "If you think you—can't—that's—that's also—all in your mind. And—you're mind's—not weak, Annie."

"You don't hate me for what I'm doing? For the—Military—Military Police?" she manages.

"N-no."

"You—might hate me—if I save your life—right now," Annie tells him. "And you know—you're—I'm stupid—because it matters to me—that you not hate me—but if I don't—you'll die—and I can't—I'll never forgive myself."

"What are you talking about?" Armin demands. He doesn't understand—save his life—what can she even do? They're trapped out here.

Annie shifts, and he's looking into her eyes. Her sloped nose is almost purple. "I'm sorry, Armin." Tears fill those blue pools.

"Don't cry—it'll freeze," he gasps, reaching out to try and brush that teardrop away.

She shoves him backwards, scrambling out from under the tree.

"Annie!" Armin screams, crawling. "You'll die! _Annie! You can't see!_ Don't be an idiot!"

A crack, like lightning. Armin gapes up at the white mass that is the snow, that is the sky.

And then a face appears.

 _No._

 _Not here—it's impossible_ —he can only gape as a massive hand descends, pulling up up.

 _No!_

And then he sees the face. He sees the golden strands before the snow blocks them again, and eyes the color of what he imagines the ocean to be.

"Annie—you—" he gasps out.

Tears still fill those eyes, but she curls up on the snow, pressing Armin against her chest, blocking the snow.

"Annie—no!" Armin shouts, tugging at the giant fingers. "Will you—what if you—"

She pries her fingers open only to look at him as if to say _I know what I'm doing, idiot._

 _Annie's a Titan._

 _Like Eren?_

 _No_ , Armin somehow knows. _Her purpose is not so innocent_.

But she's keeping him alive—she doesn't intend to kill him—"Why?" he screams at her, voice echoing in the cocoon she's keeping him in. Already his fingers are tingling, life stabbing back into the dying skin. "You're risking your own—for me?"

He matters, he knows, more than her purpose, more than her goals, whatever they are.

 _And you—you matter to me, Annie._

"I meant it when I said I thought you had your reasons!" he yells. "I want to listen, Annie, I want to understand too—when we're all through this, if you'll tell me—I'll listen—"

She doesn't lift her fingers up to look at him this time, but he knows that somehow, for some reason, she considers him worth it, and he can only cry. "Annie, you really are a good person, you know that?" he hollers. "You're nice—you're kind—you're brave—I— _let me know that you're okay!"_ Now he's crying, fat tears streaming down his face.

She lifts him then, shifting her fists to make sure that no cold touches him, and now she holds him against her face, her eyes craning down in an almost comical expression.

"You're okay," Armin whispers, pressing his palm against the warm flesh.

Her lips curve. He grabs a strand of her hand and pulls himself up. She scowls now, baring her teeth, but there's a playfulness to her eyes.

Armin lowers himself against her mouth as she covers her teeth with her lips again. He presses his own against hers.

* * *

 _Stay awake. Stay. Awake._

Armin keeps drifting off, only to jerk himself awake. But he's warm enough, clutched in her hands.

 _I won't let you die,_ she promises him.

When he kissed her, a tear fell from her eye, and he wiped it away.

 _Now you see what I am._

Somehow Annie doesn't think Armin has the same impression of who she is, what she is, and it infuriates her. She wants to claw her way back, claw her way up to the pedestal of _good_ , but she doesn't know if she can.

 _If you knew about Shiganshina…_

More tears fall, and she can't help it. For the first time in years, she doesn't even want to help it.

 _Your father will always be on your side_.

 _Always?_

She might have to test that, now. _What if I can't do it, Dad? What if all I want is to be safe, to be me, to be with Armin?_

It's impossible, she knows.

But it's not impossible to keep Armin safe.

The storm starts to die down, and Annie closes her eyes, lifting Armin out. He gasps as the frigid air saturates him again, and then Annie transforms. She stumbles, back in her human legs, which feel peculiarly weak.

"Annie!" Armin grabs her.

"You know," she manages. "Some of it…"

"Huh?" He looks at her. The sky's dark, but a few streaks of violet mar it like bruises. Snow still falls, but it looks far less deadly. They can _see_.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Armin," she confesses. "Things you might—not _want_ to know."

"Maybe not, but I want you to tell me anyways," Armin says, clutching her shoulders, and dammit, he looks so earnest.

"Did you mean it?" she asks weakly. "When you kissed—"

He leans in again, and this time she can respond. Her lips embrace his, and she digs her fingers through his hair.

 _You're beautiful_ , she thinks with her eyes closed. _You're a beautiful human being, Armin Arlert._ "I'm sorry," she says. "There are lots of things—terrible things about me—"

He kisses her words away, absorbing them, as if to say that they can't change his mind. And when he pulls back, she sees anxiety riddling his face—as if she'd reject him.

" _You_ ," she says. "You're who I want."

They make their way back to headquarters with their hands clasped. Snow reaches up past their knees and their teeth chatter. When they draw closer, Annie hesitates. The castle sits there, a beacon of survival, and yet she knows what she is, and Armin knows too.

"You don't have to tell them just yet," Armin offers. "Not if you don't want to."

"I want to stay," Annie tells him. "I don't want to go back to the Military Police."

Armin sets his jaw, and it's that look that first attracted Annie to him, sitting at a desk listening to Keith Shadis blather on about military strategy—the look that means he's formulating a plan, and it will be something no one will have thought of, and it will work miracles. "You won't have to."

"Armin!" screams Eren, and he flies at them. " _Annie!"_

Mikasa appears, her scarf wrapped tight. She hesitates, and then holds out her hand to Annie. Tears form in her eyes, and Annie realizes just how terrified Mikasa must have been about losing Armin.

More swarm as Eren and Mikasa usher them inside, whre warmth, true warmth, closes in around Annie. That redheaded lady, Petra. The rest of Levi's squad, Ymir and Christa, Connie and Sasha—her eyes swollen—and Reiner and Bertolt, whose face caves into such an expression of relief that Annie feels weak.

 _They all care._

 _Even_ Reiner.

Jean hobbles out. "Good grief, you two. Marco's been up all night crying because of you."

They all look at him. Eren scowls.

"It's _true_." Jean narrows his eyes at Annie. She flinches.

"These brats almost snuck out trying to find you guys," a dour voice says. Captain Levi claps both Eren and Mikasa on the back of the head. "We had to lock them inside."

"We _were_ about to head out, though," Christa says. "Are you guys okay?"

"How did you survive that?" demands a deep voice.

 _Commander Erwin._

Annie swallows.

"Armin, you wouldn't believe it," Eren chatters. "We almost thought there might a Titan out there, so we got no sleep—well, Mikasa and I were locked in a room, and Jean was too because he tried to free us—but we saw everyone else preparing for a battle."

"There was a lightning strike," Reiner offers, crossing her arms. Ymir raises her eyebrows at Annie.

 _How do you know?_

"We didn't see it," Annie answers. She's not ready. Not for this part. Not yet. She'll tell Armin first.

"We huddled together for warmth," Armin says. "Under a tree."

Commander Erwin raises his eyebrows.

"How close?" Reiner teases.

Annie glowers at him, but Armin squeezes her hand.

"Commander Erwin," Annie says, her heart thumping. "I've got something to tell you. About Zackley."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Up next: Levihan.**


	4. Sour Cranberries

The blond brat details her story to Erwin. Not that she has much to offer, other than that Zackley trusts them as much as Levi trusts him and that he's clearly after Erwin. She has no motivations, no specifics, and frankly her story is more than a little suspicious.

Levi scowls. Mike sniffs, a strange look on his face.

" _Do you smell one?" Hange demanded last night, snow lashing at their faces._

" _It's too wet out," Mike said. "I can't be sure."_

"And what do you hope to gain by telling us this story?" Erwin asks, crossing his arms and leaning across his desk.

Annie Leonhart doesn't flinch. She has balls, Levi'll give her that. "I want to stay with the Survey Corps. I'll join you on your exhibitions. The Military Police's corruption makes me sick." The sour tinge to her tone suggests that, at least, might be true.

"And what makes you think I'd consider allowing a confessed spy to stay with us?" Erwin demands.

"I know you've done it before." Annie's eyes flit to Levi's.

Levi is seldom surprised, but her words hit him in the gut. He glares at her. She returns it.

"If you're referring to Captain Levi, I'd suggest you reconsider," Erwin says. "I knew who he was the whole time."

As Erwin always does. Levi catches sight of Mike, avoiding his gaze, and Hange, studying him as if he's a Titan specimen. _For fuck's sake. Bugger off._

"I'm pretty sure you knew about me, too," Annie points out.

"True enough." Erwin clears his throat, shoving back his chair to stand. "And what makes you want to join the Survey Corps, Leonhart? Why do you regret choosing a life of safety and prosperity?"

"I want to defeat the Titans," Annie says quietly. "There is no other reason."

 _Besides Arlert_. Levi's not blind.

"Well then." Erwin offers his hand, and Annie gulps as she shakes it.

He seldom questions Erwin's decisions, but something isn't right here. Levi grits his teeth. Erwin dismisses the girl, and the moment the door shuts, turns to Levi. "I know what you're about to say."

Levi shrugs. "You usually do."

"I don't agree that we can entirely trust her. There's something she's holding back. But I _do_ trust Arlert."

 _Because he's mini-you?_ Levi raises his eyebrows.

"There are far more important matters to discuss, though." Erwin clears his throat.

"We have to figure out Zackley's agenda," Mike says.

"I agree," Hange says. "And I think those two soldiers we sent back are the perfect opportunities." She claps her hands together, as if the prospect is delightful. How Hange manages to find so much joy in everything, Levi doesn't know. Watching her is exhausting. He can't even imagine being Moblit. Hell, Levi's even thought _poor Moblit_ on occasion, and sympathy is something Levi generally reserves only for the dead.

They bicker over plans, and when Erwin finally dismisses them, he gestures for Levi to stay. A storm brews behind his eyes.

"What?" Levi asks crankily, dropping into a seat across from his boss.

"Were you bothered by what Annie Leonhart said?"

He pauses, considers. "No. Why would I be? It's true."

Erwin peers at him. "You know I don't hold that against you. You're my most trusted—"

"I'm aware, Erwin, or else I wouldn't trust _you_." There's nothing Levi wants more right now than a steaming cup of rich, black tea. He can almost taste the perfect bitterness, the spices.

Erwin took a chance on Levi, knowing what he was and still seeing potential. And that's something that only Farlan and Isabel had ever done beforehand. But Erwin saw a different sort of potential.

"Right." Erwin clears his throat. "Do you think I'm being foolish?"

"What?" Levi blinks. He's never known the commander to ever second-guess himself. If he did, Levi surmises, he might drown in blood.

"About Christmas." Erwin blows his breath out. "I might have made this celebration premature. So many lives…"

"It's the right thing to do," Levi tells him. "The Military Police, the government—they may think they're trapping us, but we're trapping them."

"Nile wrote to me, seemingly with ordinary talk, although I know he's pissed at me." Erwin sighs. "Marie's having her third child."

 _You loved her,_ Levi thinks, not for the first time. _But you loved humanity more._

"Sometimes I'm horribly selfish, Levi," Erwin says, picking up a pen and tapping it relentlessly against the desk. "Last night I dreamed that Marie joined the Survey Corps with me, Marie and Nile both."

"Marie?" Levi asks, raising his eyebrows. "Was it one of _those_ dreams?"

"Levi!" Erwin rolls his eyes. "I let her go because I knew humanity needed me. But if she had joined—and she wouldn't have, she wasn't a soldier—I wonder," he admits, covering his face. "Have you ever wondered?"

"I have no one to wonder about," Levi answer.

"Not even Hange?"

Levi is seldom surprised, but now he's shocked. " _What?_ Hange? She's—" _Dirty. Uncontrollable. Exhausting. Trusted_. "I'm not having this conversation."

When Levi leaves that room, heading down the corridor with his boots clopping against the stone, he finds himself thinking of his mother, of the men who came to see her as she withered away, her eyes dimmed, her hair thinned, and her cough overtook her.

 _What would you have wanted for me?_ he wonders, for the first time since he was on his own, since Kenny fled. _Does it even matter?_

He doubts someone who had no dreams for herself would have dreams for her child.

* * *

"I thought you'd come here," Hange sings out as the door to the kitchen creaks open. Steam rises to bathe her face. A fire crackles. Hange pulls out two porcelain cups, setting them down on the rough wooden counter with a clunk.

"Geez, Hange, you didn't even turn around."

"You may be unpredictable in some ways, Levi, but you always want tea." Hange hands him a cup of the boiling brew. "Careful. It's hot."

"It better be." He accepts it and sniffs.

Hange narrows her eyes. "What are you—"

"Just making sure you didn't put any shit in it."

Hange snorts. _Oh, Levi._

"Don't spray your snot in it, either." He scowls and sips. Calm slips over his face.

Hange pours herself a cup, standing next to the fire. Warmth licks her legs. After the stress of the past few days—without even a single Titan!—Hange could use this cup of tea. "You're okay, right?"

"Yes." Levi takes a gulp of tea. "Why the hell is everyone asking me that?"

"Because you have that strange look on your face again," Hange says brightly. The tea tastes perfect, and the temperature is hot enough that it threatens to burn, but doesn't actually scald.

" _What_ look?" Levi demands, hand flying up to trace his face.

"It's gone now," Hange says. "Moblit told me he, Eld, and Gunthur have got all these wreaths and garlands ready for us to decorate with tomorrow. With the help of a ladder."

Levi flips her off.

"Relax, Levi, I'm not tall enough to reach the ceilings either!"

Levi smirks, setting down his empty cup. He leans back against the counter, stretching his arms out. "Will you actually bathe for Christmas, or am I going to have to knock you out again?"

"It's your birthday, so I guess I can make an exception." Hange grins, her mind already galloping months ahead. "And hopefully, in a few weeks, this will all be behind us and we can find more Titans." She sighs, excitement shooting through her fingers. "I miss studying them. If we could just get one more subject, I know—"

"I know you'll get your arm bit off."

Hange blinks. "But we could learn so much, Levi! Just think about it. The experiments we're running with Eren haven't proved that useful towards retaking Wall Maria just yet, but if we have titans who can't control themselves, who aren't shifters like Eren—we could come close to figuring out how to—"

"Isn't Christmas supposed to be a time of miracles?" Levi says with a wry smile. "Maybe you'll get your wish."

"Do you really think so?" Hange gasps, dropping her cup with a clatter and grasping Levi's arm. To discover what the titans' essence is—

"If it's possible, I know you'll do it," Levi says. "I'll try to take one down for you without killing it, okay?"

Hange cheers, throwing her arms around him. Levi gasps. "Thank you!" Hange cries out, Levi still crushed against her chest. "Levi—that's—"

"Let me go?" Levi chokes out.

"But this is _wonderful_ news!" Hange gushes, heart pounding. "I've been so frustrated, and this—this will be—"

"I didn't know you ever got frustrated," Levi manages.

"Am I crushing you?" Hange gasps, stepping back. "You're okay, aren't you? We're going to do it, Levi. Figuring out who isn't on humanity's side within the walls will help, and then we'll do what we can to free humanity—and learning is the best way to—"

"I've got to get to bed," Levi says quickly.

"I'll walk back with you," Hange says. Since their quarters are in the same area. She practically skips. Her mind barrels ahead to all of the new experiments she'd like to try, the ones she can't quite do on Eren because she doesn't want to hurt him… although if her hypotheses turn out to be correct…

"What's going through that off-kilter brain of yours?" Levi asks.

"Just a hypothesis. No evidence for it yet," Hange says, biting her lip.

"What?" he asks, and Hange could hug him again.

"Well," she begins. "You know how Eren emerges from his titan's neck—from the same place we're taught to strike to kill them? I know we've scraped the skin off the necks of our test subjects before and haven't found anybody, but if a Titan's essence is kept there—"

"So you're saying you think we've been killing humans?" Levi demands.

Her eyes widen as they walk through the hallways, darkened with nighttime. They head up the stairs, towards the 104th cadets; rooms. "I don't have any proof yet, but don't you?"

"I guess I always liked to think otherwise. I knew someone once who thought nothing of carving up humans…"

 _Hm?_ Hange peers at Levi. _That_ look, again.

"You've heard of Kenny the Ripper, haven't you?"

She nods.

"He took me in. Briefly. After my mother died. I've always wondered if we're related, but I have no proof." Levi shrugs.

"Well," Hange begins. "Between you two and Mikasa, your family's quite adept at—"

"Oh no, Four-Eyes, you are _not_ conducting any sort of tests on—"

"Shh!" Hange grabs Levi. The sound of hurried voices and sniffling creeps through the hallway.

Levi tugs Hange into a small alcove. He presses against her, peering out.

Two blonds walk past, hands clasped. _Armin and Annie._

"I don't understand how you can't hate me," Annie says. "You're not just in denial, are you?"

"No, I know what you said," Armin answers. "But, Annie, can't you understand that I forgive you? You're not a bad person. You're not an enemy of mankind."

Hange sucks in her breath. Levi clamps his hand over her mouth. _Levi!_ His callouses scratch her. She jabs him with her elbow.

"You said a good person is someone who helps you. I don't see how I can possibly be a good person to you, or to Eren and Mikasa after—"

"You are doing good things now, Annie," Armin insists, grasping her arms.

 _Are we about to witness a make-out session?_ Dread seeps through Hange's veins. Levi pushes against her offending elbow. A draft blows in through the window, cold and bitter.

"And I—I like you, no matter who you've—"

"Dammit!" Levi finally curses when Hange's elbow hits him under the ribs. They both stiffen.

"Did you hear something?' Annie asks.

"I'm not sure. We better scatter," Armin whispers anxiously.

"They're hiding something," Levi hisses a few moments later, as he pries himself off of Hange. Cold floods her from the damn window. She scrambles after him.

"They are," she confirms.

"Got a plan?" he asks her, looking to her with determination.

"I've got some ideas." Hange grins.

* * *

Levi cracks his eyes open in the morning, as dawn splices through the windows. His head throbs, and his neck aches. _What—?_

 _Oh_.

Hange's sprawled across the lower half of his bed, while he's draped over the pillows. "Dammit." They were talking about how to catch Annie in whatever plot she's conspiring, and must've fallen asleep. Levi cracks his back as he drags himself up.

"What happened?" Hange croaks out, fumbling for her glasses, which are precariously perched on the edge of the bed.

"We fell asleep talking." Levi shoves on his boots, hopping. "We've got to meet Erwin. It's decorating day."

"Not exciting enough for you? We can get Eren to transform into a titan if you're missing them so much," Hange comments with a yawn.

"I'm not using him as practice, Hange!" Levi frantically stuffs his shirt back into his pants. When did he untuck it? "Aren't you getting ready?"

Hange shrugs. "I am ready."

Levi eyes her unkempt brown hair, the color of earth, which falls over her eyes and sticks out in the back. "Sure." He yanks the door open to see Nanaba.

"Good morning," she greets him.

Levi starts to slam the door behind him, but Hange yelps. "Sorry," he grouses as Hange emerges, rubbing her forehead.

Nanaba's eyebrows fly up her forehead.

"Do not," Levi warns her, scurrying down the stairs.

"Morning, Nanaba!" Hange sings before following Levi.

"Why couldn't you have waited one more minute?" Levi hisses.

"Why should I have?" Hange blinks, as if she doesn't understand.

"She thinks we were screwing, Hange."

" _Oh."_ Hange bursts into laughter. " _Us?_ You and me, Levi?"

Something prickles in Levi's stomach. "It's not _that_ funny."

Hange casts him a strange look.

"Great, you're here!" Erwin cries out the moment they enter his office. "I have a box of silver tinsel, and three boxes of wreathes, and Nanaba's already taken a box of candles—"

 _Please tell me she kept her mouth shut_ , Levi prays.

"And here's two boxes of boughs, and a box with cranberry strings. Actually, you two would be great at stringing that up—wrap it around some of the staircase railings, string it through the corridors."

" _Cranberries?"_ Levi asks.

"They're too sour to eat," Hange offers with a shrug. "Might as well use them in decoration."

"Apparently cranberries haven't changed in a hundred years." Erwin grins, and there's a childlike glimmer in his eyes, a glimmer Levi hasn't seen very often. The only thing he knows about Erwin's childhood is what happened to his father… and he knows Erwin thinks of it every day.

 _We'll prove your father right, Erwin_ , Levi vows.

Hange nods as if she somehow understands what the two of them are thinking. Maybe she does. Compassion isn't something Hange lacks. He remembers Isabel telling him about all the candies Hange would give her.

Erwin rubs the back of his neck.

"Commander?" Levi questions.

"You're dismissed!" Erwin waves his hand, biting his lip. The hopeful gleam dissipates, and when Levi turns to find Eren and Mikasa awaiting their orders, he knows precisely why.

"I'm worried about Erwin," Levi confides in Hange as she climbs a ladder to hang these eternal strings of cranberries. "Too high; it looks uneven!"

"Does it really matter?" Hange calls.

"Yes! Better," he adds as she adjusts.

"I am too," Hange says as she descends. "He's worried about recklessly endangering us troops. It's different than when we're facing the titans."

Levi studies her. Hange grips the wooden edges of the ladder, her knuckles turning white.

"Death for a purpose is fine. But Christmas isn't entirely necessary, not in Erwin's eyes. So if anything happens—especially like with what almost happened to Marco, to Armin and Annie, even—he'll blame himself."

"He already blames himself," Levi says. "For each and every death." He sees the ghosts lurking around Erwin. He has them, too. "But they're necessary, not in vain."

"That's probably what he's afraid of most," Hange muses. "Vanity. Purposelessness." She snorts. "But I don't think this plan is pointless."

"Neither do I," Levi agrees, dragging the ladder further along the wall. He braces himself to climb. "I trust him."

"You know," Hange says. "He seems to understand this better than anyone. None of us ever want to lose anybody. But we've got to take risks, don't we? If we don't—"

"Hold onto the ladder!" Levi squawks as he pins up part of the string.

"Whoops." Hange grasps the wobbling beast. "But as I was saying, if we don't take risks to do things—things we need to do, and things we hope to do, and thing s we want to do—because I think sometimes the things we want can be things we need, too—then we're letting more than the walls inhibit our freedom."

"Hmph." Levi hops down, but he contemplates Hange's words. "You're smart sometimes, Hange."

"Only sometimes?" she scolds him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. "All the time, Levi Ackerman."

"Hey, what? That's your last name? Are you for real?" gasps Eren Jaeger's voice.

 _Oh, great. The brat._ Levi pulls himself free to see Eren and Mikasa watching him, wide-eyed.

 _Hange, help me._ But when he looks to her, this time, she's fiddling with her hair. Which she never does. _Thanks a lot._

"We can talk later," Mikasa says quietly. "We were just wondering if we could bring some bits of tinsel into Marco's room."

" _And_ a wreath; don't forget the wreath," Eren adds. "To cheer him up."

"I think that's a great idea!" Hange chirps. She digs into their box and clips off a small string of cranberries. "Take these, too."

"Thanks, Squad Leader." Eren smiles at her. Mikasa turns to follow him.

"Mikasa," Levi calls.

"Yes?" She turns around, tugging that scarf she always wears over her nose, even though their inside and it's only mildly chilly. Okay, it's also damp, and the dampness gnaws from within the stone walls. But it's not _that_ cold.

"Let's talk after dinner," Levi tells her, and she nods.

"About your superpowers?" Hange whispers in Levi's ear.

"Shut it."

"You have a soft spot for those two," Hange comments, wrapping a string of cranberries around her hand.

"Huh?" Levi glares at her. "I just want to protect—"

"I think it's cute." Hange grins as she counts coils. "We have enough, Levi!"

"Was that ever a question?"

"No, but we have enough to take some and decorate the Commander's office, as well!" Hange squeals, grasping Levi's hands. She grins, and he can see that one of her top teeth is slightly crooked. Strangely, he doesn't feel the need to straighten it.

It suits her.

"To cheer him up! Levi, he'll appreciate—"

"Break into Erwin's office?" Levi asks.

"Well—"

"Which unfortunate cadet are we going to slap the responsibility of distracting Erwin with?" Levi muses, rubbing his chin as he looks across the hall.

Christa shrieks, tumbling off her ladder. Ymir lunges, catching her. _Decent_ , Levi observes.

"Are you all right?" cries out Armin.

Hange cackles. "Feet to the fire, right?"

"Huh?"

" _Armin!"_ Hange hollers, waving her arms.

As he watches her, he admires how free she seems, even trapped within these walls.

 _What's freedom to me?_ Levi wonders as he runs the string of cranberries through his fingers. _No regrets…_

 _What if I regret not taking a risk more than I regret taking a risk?_

* * *

Hange giggles to herself as she cracks the door to Erwin's office open. Armin had paled when they told him what they needed him to do. If the kid's guilty of anything, she has no doubt he'll spill within ten minutes of talking with Commander Erwin.

"Hange, do you have regrets?" Levi questions as he tapes a string of cranberries around Erwin's desk. Hange hangs a wreath in the window. Snow coats the ground outside, drapes the trees in a heavy blanket. Levi lights one of the candles on the desk. The scent of ginger and cinnamon wraps its way through the room. Hange could use some tea right now. Levi will certainly be up for it…

"About what?" Hange asks, peering out. _Who is that?_

 _Sasha and Connie._ Chasing each other.

"Anything."

Hange watches her breath fog up the class. "I wish our subjects were still alive."

Levi snorts. Hange peers over her shoulder. He's fiddling with hanging some glittering snowflake cutouts Petra coaxed and berated Oruo into helping her make yesterday from the ceiling. He's short, but he knows to use a chair.

She remembers when he first joined, and someone scoffed that he was too short to be much good. Hange knew that he was wrong, but she'd never have guessed Levi would go on to be mankind's greatest warrior.

"I also wish I hadn't spent so many years hating the titans, focusing on slaughtering them instead of on defeating them. If I'd stated researching earlier—" Her breath catches. "Who knows who might still be alive?"

She remembers red-haired Isabel, so young, so vivacious. She remembers Farlan, Levi's friend—she remembers so many colleagues, many of whom she'd say were even stronger than her. And still they died.

"Well, you better not make me regret agreeing to help you catch another subject," Levi warns. "I've already given Moblit strict orders to protect you."

Hange throws her head back, guffawing.

"It's not funny," Levi snaps.

"It's nice." Hange wipes at her eyes. "You're a really great friend, you know that, Levi?" She bounds away from the window, pulling up her own chair to hang another snowflake.

"Hange!" Levi shouts.

"What?" She looks across at him.

"You're on fire, idiot!"

"What?" Hange looks down to see the knee of her pants going up in flames. "Yii!" she shrieks, tumbling off the chair and slapping her knee until the flames go out.

"Don't!" Levi crashes to the floor neck to her. "Now you've burned your hands, Hange! And knowing you, you'll never keep them clean!"

Hange smirks. Her palm stings, but—"It's not so bad."

Levi snorts. "Let me see."

 _Why?_ But she holds out her palm. Levi curses as he takes in the blistered, reddened flesh. "I'll go get gauze—how's your knee?" His fingers trace her fingertips, mostly unharmed.

"I think just a first-degree burn," Hange stammers. Something flips in her stomach. She leans down to check. "Yup. Just a hole in my uniform and some red skin. Not even a blister."

Levi shakes his head. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"So do you," Hange points out. _I'll stop when you stop—and we both know, that'll be never, not until the titans are eradicated and humanity is freed from this cage_.

 _We have different methods, but we're both survivors, and we have the same goal._

 _I'm really glad you're my friend._

Why is she being so sentimental? And why is he still rubbing her fingertips? His eyes shift towards the ground, and Hange remembers Nanaba, what Levi said she'd think. A grin tugs at her lips as she leans forward.

"What?" Levi asks as she presses her forehead against his.

 _Is mankind's greatest warrior a good kisser?_ Hange wonders. She's not sure who initiates it—her or Levi—but then his lips are around hers, his tongue's in her mouth; she has her answer and he's not pulling away— _you actually want this?_

She sinks into his embrace. _I do, too._

Because he's been a steady presence since she joined the Survey Corps, and Hange doesn't know what she'd do if something were to happen to him.

The door clatters open.

Hange wrenches herself away, Levi still with his hand over her fingers, to see Erwin staring down at them, jaw hanging open and eyes bulging. "L-Levi? _Hange?"_

Levi leaps to his feet, tugging Hange up as well. "We were—we wanted to surprise you. By decorating your office. Hange's idea. With some inspiration from Eren and Mikasa."

"I see." Erwin eyes Hange's burned trousers and hand and shrugs as if to say he doesn't want to know. He takes in the cranberries around his desk, the snowflakes dangling, the candle and the wreath, the garland tied in bows in every corner. "Oh. _Oh."_

Hange moves to Erwin's left, while Levi moves to his right. "Merry Christmas," Hange says cheerfully. _Without you, after all, neither of us would be here._

Levi peers around Erwin's shoulders to smile at her.

Erwin lifts his arms and squeezes both of their shoulders. " _Thank_ you," he manages.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Up next: Springles.**


	5. Gingerbread Men

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sasha?" Connie coughs.

"Of course I am," Sasha says, brushing her bangs back from her forehead. Damp with sweat after bending over a fire for so long, the sugar on her palms sticks to her skin. "Can't be helped. It's got to be done."

"What if Nanaba needs this for the Christmas Eve party Erwin told her to plan?" Connie worries.

"It's not like you to be so hesitant," Sasha says as she creeps up the stairs. It's nighttime, and the cold seeps through the stone floors, rubbing the soles of her feet. Erwin put them in charge of planning baking, but Sasha has a better idea and it involves baking ahead of time. "You okay, Connie?"

"Sure I am," Connie scoffs. "Just don't want to get in trouble for something stupid. We'd really just need to ask."

"They're asleep," Sasha points out. "And we need more sugar _now_." She claps her hands. Armin told her about gingerbread houses because he knew, he had to know, that Sasha would be desperate to make one. A house made of food… of sugar… She shivers in anticipation. A pile of candy, bought from town, waits in the kitchen, and flour, ginger, cinnamon, molasses, and eggs sit on a shelf.

"Did you hear about Levi and Hange?" a voice filters out through the leaders' kitchen. Sasha freezes, Connie behind her. She can smell the garlic on his breath from dinner.

"About them decorating Erwin's office?" asks Oruo.

" _No_ ," says the first voice. Eld. "Erwin caught them kissing."

"Ha!" Oruo snorts. "That's the kind of story that will set Levi killing every bastard he hears spreading it. God help the poor prick who came up with it."

"No," Eld insists. "It's true."

"Holy balls," Connie whispers. "Do you think—"

"Shush," Sasha scolds. _Hange? Levi?_ She wasn't sure that sour captain could ever lift his lips out of a frown, much less kiss someone. But… Sasha's lips curve into a smile. "I approve," she muses aloud.

"Crazy and brave," Connie agrees. "A good fit."

"I'm going to ask Levi," Gunthur declares.

"I'm not rescuing you, man," Eld says.

"How are we going to get in there with them in the way?" Connie wonders. "Or we could ask them—"

"They're not the generous type, Connie," Sasha snaps. "Trust me. Eld by himself, maybe, but not with Gunthur—he'd need written permission from a superior first, or Oruo, who'd probably want to gulp the sugar simply because we said we wanted it."

"Fine." Connie holds up his hands. "What do we do now?"

"You could distract them," Sasha suggests. "Just make sure not to get caught. Make a lot of noise, fall, race by or something. I'll go hide in that alcove and duck in and grab the sugar. Meet me back in our kitchen."

Connie's brow creases, making him look adorable. "What if I get caught?"

"You won't," Sasha assures him, patting his shoulder. It's firmer than she expected. _Damn, Connie._

She slips off to the alcove. Connie clears his throat.

"What pathetic wussiness is that?" Sasha hisses.

He flips her off and runs towards the door, slamming his foot against it.

 _Connie!_ Sasha covers her mouth.

"The hell was that?" Eld bellows.

"Whichever brat's out there, I'm gonna flay him like one of Hange's experiments!" vows Oruo.

 _Yikes!_ Sasha clamps her hand over her mouth. _Don't get caught, Connie!_

The door bangs open, and Sasha hears Connie's footsteps scuffling in the opposite direction of her.

"After him!" Oruo shrieks. The three men bolt down the hallway as Sasha pries herself out of the alcove.

 _Quick,_ she reminds herself, scuttling inside the kitchen. She yanks open the draws. _Quick, quick, quick!_

 _Here we go._ She grabs the bag, hauling it under her arm. The air's tinged with the scent of something roasted, and Sasha's stomach aches.

 _Bacon!_ Sasha spies several strips, crisp and blackened around the edges still lying out on a plain wooden table. _They won't miss just one, will they?_

Sasha stuffs two in her mouth and scrambles back towards their kitchen. She chews, the salty, savory taste exploding in her mouth. _Ohhhh…_

"Stealing meat from our officers? Again?" drawls a voice. "I don't think a titan's gonna materialize and save you now."

Sasha jumps, almost dropping the sugar. "Ymir!"

"Mikasa's told me that story," the tall girl says, pulling herself away from the wall.

"What are you doing here?" Sasha demands.

"You're not the only one who gets hungry sometimes, you know." Ymir leans over the bowls of mix. "Baking cookies? For yourself, or for _Christmas?"_

"B-both," Sasha stammers.

"You realize you can talk in your real voice around me, don't you?" Ymir asks, digging through the cans. They clank against each other.

"What are you taking about?" Sasha's spine stiffens.

"I mean, I know you should have an accent. Everyone in your village does, after all." Ymir smirks. "But you just want to protect your reputation. Sasha, without vulnerabilities save for hunger. Certainly not a less-educated accent. Or maybe it's more that you want to pretend you didn't come from where you came, because you're embarrassed to go back—because of _you_ , not because of them, or maybe it's equally both—"

 _I'm a coward._ Sasha's stomach clenches.

"Shut it, Ymir," snaps Connie as he strolls in, cheeks flushed. Candlelight wobbles as he leans against the wall next to it. "Leave Sasha alone."

"Sasha and I are old friends from training," Ymir retorts. "The very first day."

"That much is true," Sasha agrees. "You and Christa saved me." The idea of going hungry, especially after all that running, still makes her shudder. "But, Ymir—"

"I know. I shouldn't have mentioned your accent in front of Connie." Ymir winks, although her dark eyes do look somewhat chagrined. "Sorry. I owe you a favor, I guess."

* * *

"Why is she like that?" Connie grouses as he dumps the stolen sugar into one of the gigantic bowls.

"I think she's trying to connect with people," Sasha replies, spreading some of the finished batter onto a pan. "If we have some left over, we should make gingerbread men cookies."

"And pretend to be titans?" Connie jokes. "As we eat them?"

Sasha laughs, but then she grows quiet.

"Do you really have an accent?" Connie asks, beating the batter. He pauses to shrug out of his jacket. Sweat beads the back of his neck.

"Not anymore." She grins.

"Bullshit," Connie scoffs. "You can't just shrug off where you come from. Me, when I go back to my village someday, see my mom and my dad—I want to impress them. Though they might be more disappointed that I'm not in the Military Police." He shrugs. "Either way, I'm a soldier. They'll respect me." His heart picks up pace at the thought. His mom—she would embrace him, he's sure, and be proud of him no matter what.

" _Just stay safe," she insisted when he left. "I love you. You'll be back."_

" _I will," he promised._

"What, did they not respect short men before?" Sasha teases as she rolls out more dough. The aroma of cinnamon rolls through the air.

"Shut it," Connie retorts. But he can't shake this off. "So you never want to go back?"

"It's not that I don't want to, exactly," Sasha begins as she adjusts some of the baking bread. She shrieks.

"Sasha!" Connie drops the spoon, splattering batter everywhere. He wipes at his eyes, trying to stumble his way towards her.

"Too—hot," she pants, running her hand under water.

"Are you okay?" he ekes out, blinking to get the gunk out.

"Yeah, it'll be fine." Sasha grins. "But as I was saying, Connie, it's not that I don't want to go back. It's just—I don't want to give them the satisfaction. My dad's there, and I love him, but he was willing to sacrifice everything—our way of life—and I wasn't." She shakes her head.

"That sounds pretty brave," Connie muses, finally making it to the edge of the sink and leaning back. He could kiss her now—reach out, brush her hair back, and finally achieve something Jean claims he achieved when he was twelve, although if even Marco thinks Jean's lying—

 _Nope_. Sasha turns the sink off. "All better!" she pronounces, scampering back to the dough.

 _Dammit_. Connie's shoulders slump.

"Did you think I was an idiot when you first saw me?" Sasha asks. "With the potato."

"Yep," Connie admits.

Her eyes flash, as does a knife in her hand as she slices strips of dough. "Well—"

 _Wrong answer. Why are women so hard for me to figure out?_ Connie wants to tear his hair out, but of course, he doesn't have any. "But—it wasn't all that—not after a few weeks," he stammers. "Really, Sasha. It was like—you seemed determined not to let the titans, or the military, dampen your joy in living. I think that's cool."

Sasha chortles. She flicks her fingers at him, and Connie yelps as flour flies at his face.

"Guess I deserved that," he chokes out.

"You do," Sasha agrees. "Want to make frosting, when you're done with that batch of batter?"

"Do we have—"

"Of course we have enough, Connie! Frosting sounds like the most important part!" Sasha grabs the recipe she wrote down earlier. "I had a cake once."

"Only once?" Connie scowls. _No wonder you're obsessed with food_.

"We should add a bit of vanilla to it," Sasha muses. "Make it taste better."

"Do you think Erwin can pull this off? Flush out the rats in the government?" Connie asks as he stirs. Damn, it's going to take all his self-control not to eat this before they can even get it finished. The white globs look like snow.

"He better," Sasha declares. "In the meantime, Christmas is fun, though. All the food…"

" _Christmas is a time for miracles, Connie!" Armin exulted the night before._

 _It'll be a miracle if I can kiss Sasha,_ Connie decides. Her eyes twinkle as if she's daring him. His heart catapults into his brain.

Sasha takes a strip of dough and tosses it at him. Connie snaps into action, hurling it back at her.

Sasha yelps, dropping the spoon into the bowl of frosting. It splatters over her cheeks as she lunges under the table. Scraps of food, sprays of sugar, fly up at him. "Oh, this is good." She dangles a long string of gingerbread dough into her mouth.

Connie grabs some flour and throws it onto her hair. Sasha splutters. "I'm eating here!"

"You don't get to throw food at me and get away with it!" Connie shouts, kneeling down. He wraps his arms around her waist, trying to drag her out.

"If I share, will it make up for it?" Sasha yelps, hacking on the flour. She offer him the uneaten part of the string of dough.

Connie shoves it into his mouth. His mom used to never let him or Martin or Sunny eat anything with raw eggs in it. _Look at me now, Mom_. The spices invigorate him. "It's—"

Sasha smiles.

" _Amazing_ ," Connie chokes out. "It tastes like—like magic."

Sasha cackles. A glob of frosting still clings to her cheek.

 _Oh, what the hell? I've got magic on my side, and at least I know my breath smells good now._ He leans over, kissing frosting off her cheek.

Sasha gasps. "Connie—"

"It's delicious, too," Connie confirms.

"Connie Springer, you are the biggest idiot," Sasha declares.

 _What?_ Connie's throat closes.

Sasha takes him by the chin, pulling his face up. Her mouth twitches. "You have some on your lips."

"Oh—"

She leans down, her lips meeting his, and Connie doesn't know what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to move his mouth. Hers opens, so he opens his and— _good grief, is this kissing_?

He likes it.

Sasha's tongue runs over his teeth, and Connie pulls her closer, against his chest. He cups her face in his hands, heart beating faster and faster, her hair sticking to his, grainy sugar falling on his face, but he feels as if he could fly without 3D maneuver gear. "You're—" he gasps.

"Yeah?" Sasha pulls back, looking down at him, brown eyes enormous and a distinct twinge to her voice. _She trusts me._

"Beautiful," Connie ekes out, pulling her down again. "And—I like your accent," he murmurs into her ear.

* * *

"The kitchen's still a mess," Sasha groans as she slips her shirt back over her head. The sun shines orange through the kitchen windows. Connie struggles into his own shirt. In-between mixing more frosting and baking the bread, they made out, and at some point, with sugar pumping through their veins and excitement blurring their minds, Sasha slipped her hands under Connie's shirt, and he took hers off.

" _Not further?" she requested._

" _This is fine," Connie agreed._

"Eh, we'll worry about it later," Connie says. "First, we surprise Marco, and then we tell everyone about the surprise."

Sasha nods, smiling over at Connie. _This is real_. Connie _likes_ her, and she—he's—it may not be quite a miracle, but she'll take it.

 _Finally, no one's dismissing me as a dumb potato girl, or a coward._ She smooths her shirt and tightens her ponytail. "Ready?"

Connie nods, arranging the cookies on the tray. Sasha opens the door. It really looks like flour and sugar exploded everywhere, coating everything in a fine white layer, disrupted only by occasional footprints and smears of spilled batter. _Hopefully no one needs to use this room over the next few hours._

Sasha knocks on Marco's door. "Come in," he says, somewhat groggily.

"Merry early Christmas!" Sasha sings, flinging the door open. Connie enters, bearing the tray.

Marco's jaw drops. His eyes shine.

"I'm impressed," comments Jean, leaning back against the window, his hair rumpled. _You slept in here,_ Sasha realizes. Though she doubts they can do anything besides cuddle, not with Marco's injury. Still, it's cute.

"They're gingerbread men," Sasha tells him. "From the book."

"They're even frosted?" Marco picks one up. "Jean, look!"

"I see," Jean comments. He narrows his eyes at them. "If we're supposed to be baking later—are there still enough supplies?"

"Um, yes," Sasha lies. Well, sort of lies. There's still enough for their plan. Connie snickers.

"Not convincing," Jean comments.

"I think I'll be able to come down for that," Marco says.

"Great!" Sasha claps her hands.

"Are you going to eat that or not?" Connie jokes, pointing to the cookie Marco keeps holding in his hand.

"It's so pretty…" Marco whispers.

Jean leans over and takes a small bite. " _Jean!"_ But Marco's grinning, and he pulls off the limbs of the cookie, handing one to eat of them. Sasha can't turn it down. The gingery taste warms her mouth.

By the time Sasha and Connie leave the room, she's yawning.

"Do we have enough time for a nap?" Connie wonders aloud.

"I know you stole that sugar from the officers' kitchen," comes a voice behind them.

Sasha screams, jumping at Connie, who catches her.

Armin's eyes bug out.

"Oh." Sasha titters as she climbs down. "It's just you, Armin."

"What're you sneaking up on us for?" Connie demands.

"We need help," Annie says, slipping out from the hallway and standing next to Armin. The sun shines through the window, and melting snow runs in rivulets down the glass.

"And?" Connie prompts.

"I need to get a message to the two Military Police members who came with me here. Hitch Dreyse and Marlowe Freudenberg." Annie shifts, glancing at Armin. "I can't tell you what about, not exactly."

"I presume it has to do with you spying on us," Sasha states, folding her arms.

"What?" Connie yelps. "Annie—it can't be—"

"It's fairly obvious, Connie," Sasha tells him, but the hurt marring his face— _maybe it's better to be wrong, when you think good things of people. No, it's not_ —but there's something virtuous about it all the same, an innocence Sasha doesn't know if she wants to shatter.

"I've confessed to Erwin," Annie whispers, studying her feet. Armin puts his hand on her shoulder.

 _An odd couple if there ever was one,_ Sasha decides. But one she likes. "You're hiding more than just that, aren't you?" She can see it in Annie's hunched shoulders, in the desperation leaking from her wide blue eyes.

"I—"

"If I said _yes_ , but we couldn't tell you right now, would you trust us?" Armin asks, pulling Annie closer against him, as if he'd like to protect her. It's sweet, especially coming from Armin, who's never been known for his physical prowess.

"You?" Connie snorts. "Yeah. I'd trust you, Armin."

Annie lowers her head. Armin cringes.

"If you could tell the commander you need more supplies—and get to Wall Sina—" Armin starts.

"Unfortunately, I don't think we have the budget for that," Sasha admits.

Annie blanches. _How important is this?_ Sasha wonders.

"I have a better idea," she says. "There's someone who owes me a favor. But she won't be able to fulfill it today. This afternoon, we're baking, or did you forget?"

"That's fine," Annie agrees.

Sasha holds her hand out, skin still sprinkled with flour and nails crusted with sugar. Annie shakes it.

"Ymir?" Connie prods as they walk away.

"Ymir," Sasha confirms.

"How're you going to get her to go to Wall Sina?"

"I'll leave that to Christa," Sasha answers. "She'd love to visit one of the orphanages, after all, I'm sure."

" _Sasha! Connie_!"

Sasha jumps as Reiner barrels at them. "What the hell did you do to the kitchen?"

"Clean it yourself," Connie retorts as he takes Sasha's hand. "We gotta get some sleep."

"You—you—bastards!" Reiner blusters as they dash off.

"We'll get to it tonight!" Sasha yells, Connie's warm arm still around her. It makes her feel safe.

 _The Survey Corps isn't so bad_.

* * *

Connie wakes with Sasha curled up next to him, watching him. He snorts. "What time is it?"

"Almost time for us to go." Sasha yawns. "Why did you join the Survey Corps, Connie?"

That was not a question he expected. Connie wishes he could return to his dream—he was home, and his mom was making soup for him, and Sunny and Martin were squabbling over who won some stupid game, and he was warm and full and still discontent, dreaming about the prestige and respect the Military Police could give him. _So maybe it's better to be awake._

"I saw too many die in Trost," he answers. "And I wanted… to help. And Eren's—situation—gave me hope. Even though I regretted it even as I was doing it."

"Me too." Sasha pries herself up. "We should head downstairs."

There's another reason Connie joined the Survey Corps.

To protect his friends. If they were all joining, he would join, because he knew then—and he still knows now—that he can rely on them when he's losing hope, that they'll pour hope into him and refuse to let him give up. _And Sasha, you're one of those friends,_ Connie thinks as he watches her bound towards the door. _And so much more than that, now._ She's someone who never, ever gives up on the little joys in life. "Why'd you ask that?" he calls. "Are you—regretting—"

"No." Sasha pauses in the doorway. "Just thinking."

Connie slips on his boots and pounds down the stairs, where he and Sasha prep everything. Reiner didn't clean a single spill, but appears to have poured water on some of the flour to harden it. _Of course._

"What is this?" Erwin bursts out when Connie and Sasha appear in the hall they've all gathered at, pushing carts loaded with gingerbread and frosting. Eren's jaw drops. Mikasa looks impressed, and Marco manages a weak smile as he leans against Jean.

"The book you and Armin gave us," Sasha says. "It has a tradition of houses made from gingerbread. So Connie and I thought—it'd be fun to try and make them. Spend the afternoon crafting them instead of baking—because we baked all last night."

"And you stole the sugar!" erupts Oruo.

"Yup," Connie confirms with a grin.

"Ooh," coos Petra, studying the book Sasha's opened and passes to the crowd. "Look, Oruo! The frosting looks like snow here!"

"We also made gingerbread people, too," Connie announces. "And we have plain sheets of gingerbread and knives, so you can carve any weird shapes you might need, and Sasha and I also bought colorful candies you can use too."

"And she didn't eat them?" asks Jean.

Erwin stifles a laugh.

"It looks really fun," Bertolt says softly.

"Get to work!" Sasha orders, clapping her hands.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, now," Levi grumbles.

"Let's go, Connie!" Sasha grabs his hand. "Let's make a little gingerbread cabin."

He glances around him. Hange seems to be building a gingerbread titan, while Levi complains until Hange hands him a long peppermint stick and he sticks it in the back of the titan's neck. Bertolt winces.

"What're you up to, Annie?" Sasha asks cheerfully. The girl cuts from the leftover gingerbread and hands the shapes over to Armin, who uses frosting to attach them to the backs of gingerbread men.

"I'm making angels," Annie answers.

"Eren, yours looks like a titan smashed it," Jean taunts.

Marco rolls his eyes, painstakingly focused on melting some of the candies. "Stained glass," he offers in explanation to Connie.

 _Geez_. Connie never would've thought of that.

"Want help?" Mikasa offers Eren, who nods. She pulls the pieces of gingerbread apart. "You need to even them out first."

Connie sniggers. "Think he'll actually wake up and snog her?"

"I hope so," Sasha says.

Bertolt and Reiner craft an elaborate palace, complete with a fancy roof coated in purple and green candies. "Damn, you guys are really good," Connie says with a whistle.

Bertolt flushes. Reiner gives him a small smile. "You're forgiven for the kitchen."

Connie laughs. _I joined for my friends._

 _I made the right choice._

Christa and Ymir work tirelessly on a small cottage, Christa crafting a fence. "We had a fence growing up," she tells Ymir. "I wasn't allowed to cross it."

Ymir brushes long blond hair from Christa's face. "Well, you're getting better at crossing boundaries."

Erwin chews his lip as he helps Eld and Gunthur create a house. And Connie catches him tasting the frosting more than once.

 _Hey, he's even human_. Connie's heart lifts. _If he can do so much for mankind, and still be human, so can we._ He squeezes Sasha's hand. "Can I hear your real accent?"

Sasha's face turns red. "Why?"

"Because I'd like to hear it. If you don't mind." He frowns as he catches Ymir, who is clearly eavesdropping, glowering at him. "I won't laugh."

Historia nods as if to say, _that's better._

Sasha crouches down towards his ear, and he voice comes out lilting and anxious. "Well, I don't know. It's never been an accent that inspires much respect—"

Connie recognizes that accent. He used to make fun of people with it, calling them hillbillies, stupid, all manner of names.

 _You're not._

 _I was wrong._

"Well?" Sasha asks anxiously.

"I think—" He's about to say that her accent doesn't matter; she's proven herself without it. And yet somehow, Ymir's glare and the pebbles rolling around in his stomach, prickling, tell him that that's not enough. "I _like_ your accent." And he does. Because it's part of Sasha, and Connie adores her.

Sasha's eyes widen, and she grabs his face and kisses him, her mouth warm against his.

A candy bings off Connie's skull. "Ow!"

"Enough, lovers," Oruo orders.

Sasha laughs, grabbing a gingerbread cookie and layering frosting on it.

She offers Connie half.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Up next: Petruo.**


	6. Do You Hear What I Hear?

Petra has had it. Her teeth clench. Her fists curl in anticipation of that one word she _knows_ is coming.

"No," Oruo says, drumming his fingers against the wooden table.

 _And to be so casual about it?_ "Is that all you can say?" Petra erupts.

Oruo jumps, shaking sleep out of his eyes. "What? I just—I'm picky—"

"Well, Commander Erwin asked us to have the songs ready by tonight, so that we can distribute them so people can practice before we go caroling! And in case you haven't noticed, Oruo, the sun's setting, and so tonight is _now!_ " Petra throws her arms out. "Are you ever going to—"

"Singing really isn't my thing anyways," Oruo drawls, and it takes all Petra's self control not to throw the pages of carols she painstakingly copied from the book into his face. The fireplace crackles away, happy and content, while Petra's anything but.

Her throat burns. Petra rubs it. Dammit, her glands are somewhat swollen. She should be resting, but thanks to this idiot, she has to stress herself out. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"I'm always difficult." He winks.

"Yeah, but you've been picking fights with me the entire past week, and I don't know why!" Petra shouts. "We can't let the commander down!"

"Oh, walls forbid," Oruo snaps.

Petra grips her hair. "Why are you acting like this? Just—help me pick five more songs. Even if you don't like them, pick the one that's the most tolerable, _please_." She squeezes her eyes shut.

"Petra, you should rest," Oruo tells her, hand resting on her shoulder. "You look pale."

Petra's eyes fly open. "I'd like to rest too, Oruo, but I can't until we've picked all the songs for tomorrow."

"If you don't rest, you won't be singing at all."

"And then you'll have to pick up the slack," Petra retorts.

"For the last time, I do not sing," Oruo snaps as he flips through the pages. He yanks one out. "This one will do."

"Do you hear what I hear?" Petra reads. "It's a good one."

 _Pray for peace, people everywhere,_ she reads. _If only._ The concept of peace is what the Survey Corps fights for—freeing mankind, and then, without the titans...

 _No_. She's not naïve. She knows that people will wreck that peace, sooner rather than later. But at least it's an enemy they more or less understand.

 _Or not._ She certainly does not understand Oruo, or why he's been so bitter and crabby lately. "This one? _Please?"_

"We Three Kings," Oruo reads. "Sure. Why not."

" _Thank_ you."

"I'll finish this," Oruo promises, his hand reaching out to clasp her wrist. "Petra, you need to get some rest. I will finish it, okay? I promise."

She wants to slump to the ground. The residue of the hot chocolate she'd gone to pains to make grows chalky in her mouth. "How do I know you will?"

"Petra, we've trusted each other when facing giant monsters trying to chomp us in two," Oruo points out. "I think you can trust me when it comes to picking out Christmas carols."

Petra yanks her arm away. "You aren't generally acting like you hate me for a fully week before then."

"I'm—what? I don't hate you!" Oruo splutters. His eyes—he blinks, and he almost looks hurt. His fist opens and closes, void of her wrist.

 _I do not understand you at all_. "I'll go," Petra agrees, pushing back. "Just—finish."

"I will!" he hollers as she stomps from the room.

Maybe it's the cold, maybe it's the stress of knowing the tensions with the Military Police have reached a boiling point, maybe it's this blasted sickness she's coming down with, or maybe it's the stress of having one of the people she trusts most in the world acting like she killed his puppy, but Petra finds tears stinging her eyes when she exits the small room they've occupied. She wipes at her eyes, sniffling.

It's been years since she cried… it's been since her first mission, when she wet herself and was beside herself in terror. She froze then, and a stupid idiot crashed into her.

 _Petra screamed as his knees collided with her ribs._

" _Sorry," gasped the man, wiping his hair back. Tears stain his face as well, and a similar stain marks his pants. "I'm so—scared," he managed as the crushing footsteps of a titan echoed around them._

" _Me too," she whimpered._

 _A scream, a human scream. Petra dragged herself to her feet._ I might die, but _—_

" _Together?" she heard the man asking her._

 _She looked over at him and nodded. Whether they lived or died, they would do it together._

 _You're my best friend, Oruo, even if you drive me mad—why are you so mad at me?_

She hears someone else crying now. Petra's footsteps still. Someone isn't just crying—they're sobbing, the kind of sobbing Petra did on that battlefield, the kind of wracking sob that feels like it's splitting your spine and skinning you from the inside, that kind of sobbing that means you're expecting to die.

Petra creeps towards the library, where the sobs are coming from. She pushes the door open.

To find, of all people, that kid whose shoulders are wider than Levi's and Oruo's put together. _Reiner Braun_. He's doubled over, fists clenched as if he's in absolute agony, and his perpetual shadow, the gangly one—Bertolt—sits next to him, hand awkwardly resting on Reiner's shoulder.

"Petra!" gasps Bertolt.

"Are you all right?" she inquires, coming closer. Bertolt tenses.

 _What's wrong?_ Petra's eyes dart around the room. Books—all approved by the government—line the walls, and drapes cloak the window. No one's lurking, as far as she can tell. No monsters.

"We're—fine," Reiner chokes out.

"You don't look it." Petra crouches down, remembering how Eld crouched down next to her and Oruo after they took down the titan.

He meets her eyes, his red-rimmed and streaming. "I'm—fine."

Bertolt stares at his boots.

"Well, you don't have to tell me what's wrong," Petra says slowly. "But don't pretend you're fine when you're not. Admitting that you're not fine doesn't make you any less of a strong person, you know."

" _Being scared doesn't mean you're not brave," Eld told them._

Reiner gapes at her. "Why do you care?" he demands.

That's no way to talk to a superior, but Petra doesn't care, not in this moment. "Why not? We're all part of the Survey Corps, aren't we? We're supposed to support each other, on the battlefield and away from it." She reaches out and squeezes Reiner's shoulder. "Whatever it is, you'll make it. You've got a good, kind heart."

"I think you're talking about yourself," Reiner croaks, but the tears seem to be coming harder now.

 _See, he knows it's true._ Petra rises. "If you need to talk, I'm around. And your friend's here for you, no matter what." She smiles down at Bertolt, who looks stunned that someone acknowledged him.

And now, she's off to bed. Petra leaves, and as she does, she notices that the sobs have quieted.

 _Poor kids_.

 _We'll eradicate the titans,_ she vows to herself as she changes and slips into her bed. _So children like you two won't have to go through this._

* * *

"Oruo, what the hell?"

He jumps, teeth slamming down on his tongue. The familiar taste of bitter blood fills his mouth. "What the hell were you trying to do?" he rants at Eld.

The blond soldier leans against the door. "I assure you sneaking up on you was not part of my plan."

"He must've been distracted," observes Gunthur, stepping closer and peering at the papers scattered across the table. "What are you trying to do?"

"Pick songs for the caroling thing Erwin put Petra and I in charge of," Oruo responds. He snickers. "Kind of funny to have a task that's so trivial compared to everything else, but Petra insists on treating it as if it was life and death—"

"Did you yell at her or something?" Eld asks.

"No?" Oruo blinks. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, Nanaba said Petra was crying."

"She's sick," Oruo says. "Coming down with some sort of cold." His heart twinges. Petra—crying? He curses, fists curling.

"I knew it. You did do something, didn't you?"

The heat from the fire wraps around it, enclosing him in a hot, sweaty coffin. "Why are you blaming me?" Oruo yells. He didn't—he wouldn't—why would they think he would ever want to hurt Petra? Sure, he teases her all the time, but she dishes it right back, and he loves it. She's infuriating, and intoxicating.

"Who else should we blame? You're working together, right?" Gunthur points out, running his hand across his close-cut hair.

"Shit." Oruo gathers the papers. _She did seem frustrated. Was I too harsh?_

"Well, you can apologize—"

"It's far more likely she has other reasons to cry," Oruo snaps, fury igniting. How can they not see? Are they so out of tune with Petra? Don't they _care_ about her? At all?

"No," Gunthur says, blocking Oruo's exit. "You're not leaving."

"What are you talking about?" Oruo demands. "Let me—"

"Nope, sit down," Gunthur orders, grabbing Oruo's arms and pushing him back towards the table.

"You want to eat my fist?" Oruo threatens.

"I'm quaking." Gunthur rolls his eyes. "Eld—"

"I brought it," Eld announces triumphantly, pulling out a dark amber bottle and setting it on the table with a clank.

 _Maybe I will stay_. Oruo's eyebrows soar. "Didn't expect you to be hoarding expensive brandy, Eld."

"No missions this month," Eld points out, kicking out a chair and dropping into it.

Guntur releases Oruo, and he slumps into a chair, setting the papers with the song lyrics down. "Hey, what do you two think of these songs? These are the ones I picked—well, me and Petra." He slides them across the table.

"Nice," Eld says, barely glancing at them as he pours brandy into three small glasses.

"Hm." Gunthur studies one page in depth. "I like this one."

 _Do You Hear What I Hear?_ "Petra picked that one." He accepts a glass of brandy.

"It'll sound nice, too," Gunthur surmises, paging through the rest and nodding as he absorbs the words. "Christmas seems like a really nice holiday."

"Do you ever wonder what other holidays mankind's forgotten? What other religions, what knowledge—technology—" Eld shakes his head.

"The titans have stolen so much," Gunthur agrees.

"Well, we're going to take it back," Oruo declares, holding his cup up. Righteousness surges in his veins. _We have to. And maybe we can make Christmas a thing again._ "To humanity's victory, and the roles we'll play in it."

They clink their glasses and drink. It burns, but pleasantly. Oruo sighs.

"You know, Eren Jaeger has given us so much hope," Gunthur says. "We never could have hoped—or expected—"

"He may be a wild one, but I'll give him that," Oruo agrees.

"And Captain Levi trusts him, more or less," Eld says.

Oruo accidentally gulps too much brandy. He winces and almost bites his tongue again.

"Do you have something to say?" Eld prompts.

"What?" He doesn't understand. What do these punks think they're doing?

"Oruo," Gunthur begins. "We can't help but notice that you seem—colder—to Captain Levi lately, and annoyed with Petra, and—"

"I'm not annoyed with Petra!" Oruo protests. How dare they? "I'm worried about her! I'm _sad_ for her!" _Dammit!_ His fist tightens around the glass.

"Sad why?" Eld's jaw drops.

"Do you really have to ask?" Oruo snaps, the brandy smoothing his brain with fuzzy fingers. "She loves Captain Levi, doesn't she? And now he and Hange—they're both happy—but Petra's hurt, so—" He'd like to be happy for Levi and Hange. He _is_ happy for them, in a lot of ways. But he wants to kick himself for being happy about anything that makes Petra sad. "He's broken her heart." It's an exaggeration and he knows it. Petra is not so fragile. But she's hurting.

Gunthur's eyes are huge.

"Well," Eld begins. "I don't—"

"You, Oruo," Gunthur cuts in. "Are an idiot."

"Huh? How—" Oruo glares at him.

"Yeah, sure, Petra had a crush on Levi. But she never—she—can you really not see?" cries out Gunthur. "Eld, I knew he could be block-headed, but I didn't know he was _this_ thick-skulled!"

"You pompous—"

"Petra loves _you_ , Oruo!" shouts Gunthur.

His heart leaps, and he hates it for doing that, hates it for clinging to false hope. He's a soldier. He's been taught to accurately assess all situations, not get caught up in stupid wishes and dreams. "She does _not!"_

"Maybe if you were nicer to her, you'd find out," Eld quips.

"How do you know she doesn't?" Gunthur demands.

All the tension flees from Oruo's shoulders. He gulps the last of the brandy. "Because any fool could see she has eyes for Captain Levi."

"Well, we fools think she _also_ has eyes for you," Eld mutters.

"Why don't you ask her?" Gunthur suggests. "Then at least you'll know."

His cheeks burn. He doesn't like feeling so naked, so vulnerable. "I—can't."

Eld pours him more brandy. "Yes, you can."

"Why would she want me?" Oruo blurts out. "I'm a klutz—I bite my tongue—she's beautiful, and kind—I'm sour and—"

"Gunthur, please write this down, because I never want to forget this," Eld directs.

Oruo glowers at him.

"Well," Gunthur says. "Doesn't she deserve to make that choice herself? How will you know unless you ask her?"

* * *

"Petra, are you okay?" Nanaba gapes at her.

"Yeah," she mutters hoarsely, rubbing her head, which feels as if a titan's rolling around in it, eating her brain. "It just—I've got a cold."

"No kidding. Hange's got lozenges, I think."

"Thanks." Petra yawns and pulls her cape tighter around her shoulders. The headache isn't even from the cold, she doesn't think. It's from crying herself to sleep. Everyone's hurting, suffering so much, and she's powerless to stop it. And Oruo's been so bullish lately, and she doesn't understand why. She needs him, him and his sarcastic comments, his stupid habit of biting his tongue all the time.

"You want to do what?" she hears Hange asking as Petra approaches Hange's lab.

"Just for a day," Christa, the pretty, petite girl, squeaks. "I think the children would really appreciate it, and it's keeping with the spirit of Christmas, at least according to that book."

"I'm doing it because she says so," comes a deadpan voice. _Ymir, the sullen one_.

"Not today, I'm afraid," Hange says. "But tomorrow, sure. I'll clear it with Erwin."

"Thank you so much!" Christa cries.

"Welcome," Hange answers as Petra raps on the corner. "Who's there?"

"Me," Petra says, slipping around the corner. Christa smiles at her. Ymir nods as they scuttle away. "What were they asking permission for?"

"To visit an orphanage," Hange answers. "Christa seems like she really loves children. She loves children like I love studying titans."

"Are they a couple?" Petra questions.

Hange shakes her head, peering after them. "They might be. I wonder…"

"Nanaba told me you have lozenges," Petra cuts in quickly. Her glands seem less swollen.

"You're sick?"

Petra shrugs. "Just a little bit."

"Sure." Hange rifles through her belongings. Petra cringes, trying not to take notice of the piles of grime-encrusted tools and books bookmarked to the point where the binding's strained. "Levi and I are going to run some experiments on Eren later today. Before the caroling, of course," she adds, a devious grin splitting her face.

"What kind of experiments?" Petra questions, leaning against the wall. Maybe tea will help her headache. Or coffee. But they probably have more tea.

"We'll see," Hange answers evasively, and that's when Petra knows she's deceiving her. Somehow.

 _This is all part of Erwin's plan._

 _Who is the real enemy?_

Petra pops the ginger-honey flavored lozenge into her mouth and thanks Hange. "And, Hange," she begins.

"Yeah?" Hange gazes dreamily out the window, at the fields of snow glinting in the sun.

"I'm happy to hear about you and Levi," Petra tells her.

"Aw!" Hange pounces at her, wrapping her up in a hug. _Ugh_. Hange clearly hasn't bathed in a few days.

 _I bet Levi will fix that_. Petra hurries away, and her heart feels unexpectedly light. She is happy for Levi, and Hange. The captain's always too serious. Someone like Hange is perfect to get him to lighten up, especially since she's no less dedicated to the cause of mankind than he is. And as for Levi, he might be the perfect stabilizing influence on Hange.

Petra darts down the stairs and slams into a soft body. "Oof!" She stumbles back.

"Petra!" cries Oruo, rubbing his temples as if they hurt. HE cringes and grabs his mouth.

"Did you bite your tongue again?" she demands.

"It's no matter," he grumbles, still massaging his scalp.

"Do you have a headache too?" she blurts out.

"Eld may have shared a bottle of brandy with Gunthur and me last night," Oruo mumbles.

"What?" Petra glares at him. "And you didn't invite me?"

"Well—the conversation wasn't appropriate—"

"I can handle anything you dish out!" Petra yells.

"I know!" Oruo holds his hand up.

 _You're surrendering early_ , Petra thinks. _His head must really be hurting him_. "Maybe some tea will help? I'm on my way to get some."

Oruo's face breaks into a smile. "Yeah. That sounds good."

"Oruo, why do you bite your tongue?" Petra asks as she boils the leaves in water. Her mouth waters.

"What" he blusters. "What kind of question is—" He cuts himself off, rubbing the base of his skull.

"I guess I don't blame you if you don't know," Petra says quietly. "Sorry."

"Huh? It's not like you to apologize." He snorts. "If you really want to know, Petra, my father used to tell me to shut up every day when I was growing up, and I would bite my tongue to convince myself not to scream back in his face. And I'm a klutz, so it's become a habit whenever I'm—you know."

 _Scared. Startled._ Petra peers at him, her pulse hammering. "I'm sorry."

"No need to be."

Petra shrugs, pouring the tea.

"Don't you tell anyone," he warns her as he accepts it. His fingers brush against hers. Petra looks into his eyes.

He avoids her gaze, and her hopes crash. "I—picked out all the songs," he says.

"Oh." Petra nods, blowing on the tea to cool it down. "Can I see?"

"Yeah. You do get veto power, you know," Oruo adds. "If you don't like one."

"You're such an idiot," Petra complains. "Don't worry, Oruo. I'm sure they're fine."

He ducks his head.

 _Is he blushing?_

"Here they are." Oruo shoves the pages at her, chugging the tea. "And by the way—if your voice is still hoarse, don't feel like you have to sing."

"I'll want to!" she protests.

"I figured, but you don't have to be at your best. I'll cover for you."

"Your voice sounds like a toad's on a good day!"

"Well, yours sounds like a frog just talking right now!" he shouts.

Eld sticks his head in the kitchen and nods.

"What?" she demands.

"Nothing." He saunters off, but Petra hears him whistling the tune of "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

* * *

"Well, here goes nothing," Gunthur says to Oruo, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm fine," Petra hisses, her voice certainly better than it was this morning, but damn if it doesn't still sound like a very angry raven.

The rest of Levi's squad—sans Levi—plus the new recruits gather outside Erwin's office. "On three," Petra instructs. "One. Two." She meets his eyes, hers amber and sparkling, and Oruo feels like he's drunk again.

 _To hell with dignity._ "Three!"

" _Said the night wind to the little lamb…"_ Oruo throws his head back, singing with gusto, off-key though it may be. Petra smirks, and her voice, kept soft, maintains its grace despite the cold. _Dammit_.

 _Oh well_. Singing sends a wave of joy surging through him. Gunthur and Eld stand in front of him, Eren behind him, and the brat's got a semi-decent voice, although it's nothing compared to Mikasa's. Erwin flings the door open, and the dizzy happiness Oruo sees on his face, the repressed smirk on Levi's— _damn, this is worth it._ Worth every shred of his dignity.

And so is the woman next to him, strong and brave and yet somehow still kind. He watches her squeeze the shoulder of that big kid, Braun, who looks strangely touched and yet intimidated. _Trust me, kid, I know how it feels._

Hange squeals when they come to her quarters, and she promptly abandons her work to join them. _Finally, someone with a worse voice than me._ Although Levi doesn't seem to mind.

 _They do work well together,_ Oruo realizes. And Petra—

Eld steps on his toes when they all gather in the main hall, every single Survey Corps member, to sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." The notes soar through the night air, and Oruo feels himself caught up in the moment, as if he's soaring somewhere outside of his body, as if the walls aren't erect and imprisoning them, as if the titans don't exist, as if all the deaths over the past few years have some greater, and even _beautiful_ , meaning to them, as if all those dead friends somehow surround them, singing with them in a refrain that Oruo can't see, but hear.

 _Why am I being so sentimental?_ He almost bites his tongue. _I hate this!_

Gunthur narrows his eyes after they reach the final note and everyone turns to each other, giggling and throwing their arms around each other. That Military Police brat, Annie, throws her arms around Armin, and Eren too. Even Jean, that snob, grins at Eren, and Marco can't stop laughing.

 _I guess I wasn't the only one who felt that,_ Oruo realizes, noticing the peculiar look on Levi's face.

"Do it now," Eld hisses in his ear.

"Everyone!" Erwin shouts. "One more week until Christmas!"

Levi scowls again, glaring at Erwin, who appears to back off from adding that it would be Levi's birthday. Not that Oruo expects it to go unacknowledged.

"Petra," Oruo blurts out before he can stop himself, grabbing her hand. "Can we talk?"

"Uh—okay?" She lets him pull her into a side corridor, lit only by one candle. The light flickers, but he can still make out the porcelain sculpture of her face, the way her hair falls loose and silken to her shoulders.

"So—I have to—apologize. For acting grumpy with you lately," Oruo says. _Dammit—can I—I have to—why is this so hard?_ As long as he doesn't pee his pants…

"Thanks, blockhead," Petra teases. But he can tell she appreciates it.

"See, I was mad—worried about you—and mad at Captain Levi. I thought he broke your heart by getting with Hange, but—"

"What?" Petra's jaw drops. "Oruo—" She draws in a shaky breath. "I—I did love Levi, when we first started, or I thought I did. He represented something to me—what I thought I should be, and I still admire him for that, but—when I heard about him and Hange—I was _relieved_. I wasn't grieved. It was never meant to be, and I guess I knew that."

"Good," Oruo says. "I should have been there for you, instead of being a—"

Petra tilts her head, studying his face, and he can't help but wish he had a better one to offer her.

"Petra," he starts again. "Gunthur and Eld say they'll kill me if I don't tell you, so I will, but know that before anything, I want you to be happy, okay? I mean I know that I mock you and it might seem like I want you to be miserable, but I don't, and you do the same thing anyways, so—"

" _What?"_ Petra sounds befuddled.

 _I'm really bungling this, aren't I? Oh well._ "I love you." His first instincts instruct him to avoid her eyes, but no, she deserves to look at him, know he means it.

"Well," Petra says slowly, and then he hears her sniff.

Aw, shit. She's crying. "I didn't mean—"

"If I wasn't sick, I'd ask you to kiss me," she says.

What? He gapes. "Petra—"

"I love you too, you stupid oaf." She laughs, and it's a sound so pretty, like bells chiming.

"I don't acre about getting sick," Oruo proclaims, elation fueling him. He leans down and presses his lips against hers.

"You really don't care?" she croaks out.

"Of course not. It's just a little cold," he scoffs.

"Well then," Petra says, her palms pressed against his cheeks. "That's too brief and shallow to be a real kiss." And she pulls his head down, and Oruo feels like he's drowning in her.

 _Petra wants_ me.

Tears spring to his eyes. _Dammit!_ But no, he's not ashamed of the tears he knows Petra sees. She pulls back, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey—Captain Levi!" he hears Eld bellowing.

"For real?" yelps Eren.

" _Finally!"_ screams Gunthur.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Up next: Yumikuri.**


	7. Faith of a Child

"I think this is a terrible idea," Ymir proclaims as they head out in the cold.

"Well, Armin wouldn't be involved with something risky," Christa rationalizes.

Ymir casts her a scathing glance. "Have you met him?"

 _Good point._ Christa sighs. "Annie needs our help," she declares, setting her jaw. "So we're going to help her. She's our friend."

"Hmph." Ymir crosses arms against the bitter wind. "Geez, can't the wind cut it out?"

"Visiting the kids will be fun," Christa tries as her hair whips across her face, stinging her cheek as it slaps it. _Ouch_. "Don't you think?"

"For you," Ymir mutters. "I don't have much patience for scrawny brats."

"These are kids who've lost their families! To the titans, or to disease or misfortune—or who've been abandoned—" Christa's heart twinges.

Ymir slips an arm around her shoulders, and she's instantly warmer. "I know. I'm just kidding." She blows out her breath, watching it create a perfect round ball of fog. "If only I hadn't owed Sasha and all we had to do was visit those grubby toddlers."

"I don't mind," Christa insists. "Helping you, Ymir. I don't mind at all, and I don't mind helping Annie either." She squares her shoulders. "I'm _happy_ to do it."

"Do you even know what it feels like to be happy?" Ymir asks with a snort as she pulls her cloak around both of them. Christa can hear Ymir's heart beating as they walk.

"I'm happy _now_ ," Christa mumbles. Or she's as close to happy as she can be. Because she's helping her friends, and Ymir's close by, wanting her.

"Don't know if it counts," Ymir says. "But, if it makes you feel better, I don't know either. We're two lost kids. Maybe we can inspire the kids in the orphanage, do you think? To join the Survey Corps and get chomped by titans?"

Horror rakes through Christa. She yanks herself away, the cold dousing her in horror. _"Ymir!"_

"Sorry," Ymir says quickly. "I didn't mean that."

'Well, what did you mean?" Christa demands.

"I meant…" Ymir lowers her voice as they break out of the forest. Wrapped in coats and scarves, people rush past them without a second glance. The gray sky above looms, threatening more snow. "I meant that there doesn't seem to be very much of a future here in these walls. That's not something even you can deny."

"That's why we're in the Survey Corps, though," Christa insists, grabbing Ymir's arm with her free one; the other clutches a basket of cookies. Ymir turns to her, mouth open. "So we can defeat the titans. So we can create a future."

Tears fill Ymir's eyes, and Christa's stomach flip-flops. She's never seen Ymir cry, not even once. "Aren't you in the Survey Corps to try and kill yourself?"

Christa's insides chill over. A man with blond hair and a mustache glances back at them, sneering when it sees the wings of freedom on their cloaks. "N-no!"

"But don't you want a heroic death?" Ymir presses.

"What kind of death do you want?"

"I don't want to die at all. Not again."

Christa frowns. She remembers what Ymir said about her people, how she sacrificed herself to appease them. Even if she didn't mean it literally. _Did she? How?_ "But you joined the Survey Corps anyways, for me." And it's something that niggles at her, the guilt— _if Ymir dies, it'll be my—_

"Don't think that way," Ymir snaps. "Because you know what I'd like even less than me dying? _You_ dying."

Christa stops in her tracks. Ymir continues on, and then freezes. "Aren't you coming?"

"Why?" Christa asks her.

Ymir scoffs. "So you actually believe me?"

Christa looks up at her, and Ymir's gaze softens. She reaches down to brush Christa's hair out of her eyes.

 _Ymir wants me. She loves me_. Christa still has to remind herself of it, because it seems so implausible—like something out of a fantasy, or one of the books she would read under that tree she spent so many days under, trying to pretend she was someone, anyone, other than Historia Reiss.

Ymir smiles, and the slight lift of her lips, the unusual softness in her eyes—it's Christa's favorite look.

" _You_ want me," Christa says cheekily.

"Don't start." Ymir rolls her eyes, but Christa pecks her on the lips.

"Come on." Christa takes her hand and pulls her through the crowded streets, and for a moment Christa really does feel like a protagonist in one of the stories she's read. She hums one of the carols from the night before.

"So, you really like this Christmas stuff?" Ymir asks, her voice low.

"Yeah." Christa looks up into Ymir's face, scowling again.

"It does seem like your kind of holiday," Ymir admits. "So what are you getting me for Christmas?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't you hear Erwin saying things about gifts?"

"Yeah, but he also said not to—" Christa gulps. Her mind races ahead. _What_ can _I get Ymir?_

What can she get the girl who actually wants her, who loves her?

"I'll make this easy for you," Ymir says. "I'll just tell you what I want." She strolls on ahead.

"Well?" Christa calls as she chases after her. The basket of cookies bangs against her leg. "What is it?"

Ymir turns to face her. "Do you want coffee?"

"Huh?" The rich smell of cream and espresso fills the air.

"I have enough money to buy us both coffee," Ymir says, nodding at a shop behind them. 'Do you want a cup?"

"Do we have time?" Christa asks, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"We do," Ymir promises, heading towards the door. She pauses with her gloved hand on the handle. "And, Christa. What I want is—" She leans down to whisper in Christa's ear. "I want to know your real name."

* * *

It's really an unfair thing for her to ask, and guilt gnaws at Ymir's stomach as she pays for two coffees. She's sick of plain black tea.

"Survey Corps, eh?" asks the burly man behind the counter. "I'm guessing this is the only time I'll see you in my shop."

Ymir rolls her eyes as she hands over the money.

"Why do you waste our tax dollars?" demands a small woman with flaming red hair. "So much money and so many deaths and you still haven't found out anything useful—"

 _The order in which you phrased that tells me all I need to know about you_. Ymir's familiar with this type: the complainers, supposedly with a worthy cause, but who only cares about protecting their way of living. "That _you_ know of," Ymir shoots back. "We're closer than ever to uncovering the true origins of the titans. We may even know."

The woman's jaw drops.

"Flora, unless you're going to buy my best coffee, leave the girls alone," grumbles the man behind the counter.

"Ymir, why did you say that?" Christa squeaks out as she hands over a steaming mug. "We're not really any closer, you know."

 _Switch out the_ we _for_ I _, and it won't be a lie_ , Ymir thinks. She sips the scalding liquid. Creamy and sweet—too sweet for Ymir's taste, but Christa will like it.

She doesn't know if she'll ever tell Christa the full truth. "We're closer than _you_ know," she repeats.

"Hm?" Christa frowns, and the way she looks at Ymir—eyes so blue, wide and hopeful—Ymir wants to scream.

"You know what kind of person I am. How will you react if I tell you the full truth?" Ymir asks, gulping more of the liquid. It burns the roof of her mouth.

"Careful, Ymir!" Christa scolds. "What do you mean by 'the full truth?'"

"You're not ready for it."

"Ymir, don't patronize me." Christa's eyes narrow, and her tone takes on that darkness that sends Ymir's heart fluttering—it's the voice of a queen. _You do have what it takes, Christa._

 _Why not_? Ymir remembers their conversation in the forest that winter night during training, when she saved Daz and made Christa promise that the day Ymir revealed her secret, Christa would reclaim her name. _Are you ready for her to do that? It'd be dangerous._

But living a lie—living as Christa—is killing the girl Ymir loves. "What if I told you," she begins. "That Eren isn't the only one in the Survey Corps with the ability to transform into a titan?"

Christa's jaw drops. Her coffee sits untouched, but she reaches out, and _oh fuck, why_ —she grabs Ymir's wrist, she touches her, she isn't repulsed or betrayed. "You can?"

"It's way better than that," Ymir tells her with a snort. "I was a mindless titan for somewhere around sixty years—yes, Christa, I'm technically about seventy-seven years old. I ate people, Christa, do you understand?" She keeps her voice low, but fury tangles it up, and she has to stop, gulp air before continuing. "I was a—"

"Mindless," Christa muses. "Like in Trost?"

Ymir can't respond now. She feels frozen. _Here it comes._

"That must have been horrible," Christa whispers, tears filling her eyes.

 _What_? "A nightmare," Ymir mutters. "It felt like living in a nightmare. And to turn back into a human—a shifter—I had to eat another shifter. I don't remember anything about that, though. Nothing about whom I ate. And who knows how many hundreds of—"

"Ymir," Christa interrupts. "This is—not your fault."

 _It might be more my fault than you know_. Ymir chugs more coffee. "Hey, I paid for that. Aren't you going to drink it?" She feels like crying again, and hates it.

Christa hesitates, and then picks up the cup and takes a sip. "Historia."

"What?"

"My name." She meets Ymir's gaze. "My name is Historia Reiss."

"So you're a princess," Ymir muses. " _Historia_."

Her cheeks pink. "Illegitimate—I should never have been—"

"But you _were_ born," Ymir hisses. "People have said the same about me since I can remember. But I was born. I'm alive. You're here. What are you going to do about it?"

Historia finishes her coffee. "We should get going."

"Fine," Ymir acquiesces, but humiliation crawls down her spine. _Now you know. Now you know_. And she doesn't know what Historia will do when she's had more time to process.

"Historia Reiss," Ymir whispers, barely loud enough for Historia to hear. "It's a much nicer name than Christa Lenz."

Historia's mouth opens.

"To the children," Ymir directs, pointing up the road. They leave the main town, although Ymir stops by a Military Police checkpoint.

"What do you want?" asks the man in charge, a bottle brazenly gripped in his hand.

"You know Marlowe Freudenberg?" Ymir asks. "Or Hitch Dreyse?"

"No, I don't, and I'll thank you to get your—"

"Please, sir," pipes up Historia, widening her eyes. "We were in training together, and we really were hoping to see them again. They're part of the new recruits—I don't know if you could get a message to them, tell them to meet us at the orphanage in an hour or so—"

"I'll see what I can do," the man whispers, entranced with Historia's beauty.

"Thank you so much," Historia coos, reaching out to pat the man's grubby hand. "Let's go, Ymir."

"Do I get a hand pat?" Ymir questions as they scurry away.

Historia reaches out and kisses her hand, and Ymir's stomach clenches. _Why? Why do you still like me, now that you know what I am, what kind of—_

Historia bursts into giggles. "I can't believe I did that."

Ymir can't hold back her grin. "Did you see his face? It was as if I was an old hag—which I guess I technically should be—and you were the princess—oh wait—"

Historia playfully pushes Ymir's shoulder.

Two children, both pig-tailed and dirty, peep out from behind a tree. Historia drops to her knees.

 _You want them to know that they're worth something,_ Ymir realizes as she watches Historia share the gingerbread men with the kids, one of whom hides behind the other. Her heart aches. _There's no end to your kindness, is there?_

 _You deserve to be queen._

"What does that mean?" asks one of the girls, tracing the wings of freedom on Historia's cape.

'It's the wings of freedom," Historia explains. "From the survey corps—it means—"

"Hey," Ymir says, crouching down. "It means we can fly."

"No, you can't," scoffs the little girl, with freckles like Ymir's own.

"You can," Ymir tells her. "Want to try?"

"Huh?" The girl blinks, and Ymir reaches down, grabbing the girl by the waist and lifting her over her head, charging around the grounds. The girl shrieks, but laughter filters through her shrieks. " _I'm flying!"_

* * *

The children gobble down the cookies and the girls take turns braiding Historia's hair. Ymir chases the boys around; despite claiming all last night that she sucks with kids, Historia thinks the opposite is true.

 _She's a titan. She's been_ _a_ mindless _titan_. And eaten who knows how many people.

 _You're not a monster, Ymir,_ Historia thinks as she watches Ymir scoop one chubby-cheeked little boy up for what has to be the tenth time, making him fly around the confines. _You saved me._

And Historia has the feeling she's not done yet. And— _dammit, let me save you, too._

But the sun starts to set, coloring the sky like a bruise, purple and red and yellow clouds swelling over their heads, and neither Hitch nor Marlowe have shown up.

"I don't they're coming," Ymir hisses. "We'll have to go to them directly."

"But that's—" Historia protests.

Ymir arches an eyebrow.

 _We have to._ Historia swallows. "We'll be back," she promises one of the little girls, Fiona, who has dark hair and looks strangely familiar, although Historia can't place whom she reminds her of.

They leave, striding back up towards the town, when two Military Police members, unicorns sewn onto their jackets, fly by.

"Hey!" Ymir hollers. "I think you're looking for us."

 _It's them,_ Historia realizes. Hitch, with her narrow face and curly hair, Marlowe with his solemn frown.

"How's Annie?" demands Hitch. "If you've—"

Ymir guffaws. Marlowe glowers at her, taking Hitch's hand.

Historia cringes. "Annie's fine. Quite well, actually. She wants to stay with the Survey Corps."

"Is she insane?" exclaims Hitch.

"Considering how you sent her to spy on us, probably," Ymir says.

Marlowe's face crumples with shame. Even Hitch studies her boots.

"What're your names again?" Marlowe asks.

"Ymir. And this is—"

"Historia," she says, hearing the name declared as her own again. _It's mine, it's mine, I am Historia. Not Christa Lenz._ "We have a letter. From Annie to you." She digs in her pockets, retrieving it. "We haven't read it."

"She talked me out of reading it," Ymir admits as Hitch tears it open, eyes scanning the page.

"Dammit," Marlowe breathes.

"What?" Historia demands. "Do we need to—"

"She wants us to spy for you," Hitch says bluntly. "And you can tell her that no, we haven't revealed a single piece of information about that holiday you're celebrating. Christmas."

"You didn't?"

"Do you not believe in your bosses that much?" Ymir drawls.

"Thank you," Historia hastens to add.

"We think you might be in the right," Marlowe says softly. "There are—questions—and the Military Police _is_ corrupt."

"So?" prompts Ymir. "Will you do it or not? Because we don't have all day to decide, okay? We'd like to get back before it starts snowing again or something."

"We'll do it," Marlowe declares. "Or—I will. Hitch, you don't—"

"You're a bloody idiot," Hitch snaps. "I'll help. Annie's my roommate. She's my friend, and you're my friend, and without you guys—" Hitch doesn't finish.

"Tell Annie we'll come as soon as we know for certain who's behind this," Marlowe says.

"You do realize that we'll have to use some nontraditional, non-Marlowe-approved ways to get this information, don't you?" Hitch asks. "Best way to talk is to supply a decent bottle of wine."

"I leave that to you to sort out," Ymir says.

"If it's for the right reasons, maybe it's not wrong," Marlowe muses aloud.

"You just want to do the right thing, don't you?" Historia asks. She feels for him. Just like she always wants to help people—love people— "Helping the Survey Corps is the right thing. For—for—" She can't quite say it. "You'll be fulfilling your duty to the king, I assure you."

Hitch snorts.

Ymir cocks her head.

"We'll be there in a few days," promises Marlowe. "On your Christmas. Tell Annie."

"Will do." Ymir takes Historia's arm, and they hurry back, the cold still slicing at their faces. "So. _Historia."_

"What?" she asks.

"They'll be helping the true ruler—because _you_ are the heir, aren't you? The Reiss family should be on the throne instead of the Fritzes." A strange look takes over Ymir's eyes.

Historia shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Well, I think you suspect, don't you?"

Historia throws her hands in the air. "Maybe. Maybe not. But if not—why go to the lengths of murdering my mother? Why—" She covers her mouth. "I don't know."

"If you were to become queen, a lot of our problems would be solved."

" _Our_ as in the Survey Corps?" Historia starts to grin. "So you're even acknowledging yourself as one of them, now."

"You have to do it," Ymir tells her.

"I'm not made to be a queen, Ymir."

"You're made to be anything and anyone you want to be, Historia," Ymir insists, whirling her around to face her. The confidence burning in Ymir's eyes— _she really believes that_ — _but I can't, I can't!_

She shakes her head, and Ymir groans.

"Let's be quiet. We're entering the town." Historia shuts her jaw, clenching it so tightly her teeth ache. Why would anyone assume she has the ability to be queen, to rule over people? She's nothing but a bastard child, an unwanted one.

 _I want you._

Historia glances over her shoulder, at Ymir's impassive face.

 _If Ymir can leave behind her titan life, can't you leave behind whom you were born as? Not your identity as Historia Reiss, but you're not unwanted anymore. It's not a brand you have to bear forever._

"Hey," pipes up a small voice next to her.

Jolted from her thoughts, Historia looks down to see a small child, wrapped in a tattered cloak, smudges smeared over its face—she can't even tell if it's a boy or a girl. "Are you okay?" Historia asks, crouching down.

The child's fist shoots out, and he strikes Historia in the cheek. She falls backwards, and he snatches her basket, flying down the side street with it.

* * *

"Hey!" Ymir bellows as Historia's bottom slams into the cobblestones. Her jaw hangs open in shock. "Are you—"

"I-I'm fine," Historia stammers.

 _Little brat_. Ymir takes off after the kid. He's fast, but her legs are so much longer that it's not even a contest. She rips the basket from the child's hands and he cries out. Ymir grabs his shoulder and shoves him back against the wall. "Stop fighting!" she orders.

"Ymir!" Historia shrieks as she races towards them. A red splotch mars her cheekbone.

The boy pants, chest heaving, eyes enormous and terrified.

"What were you thinking?" Ymir demands. "Hitting a soldier. That's just stupid. Go for the older ones who can't keep up."

"Ymir!" Historia scolds.

The boy blinks. "You—"

She doesn't like the look on his face, the way his nose is red and running from the cold. It's too familiar.

"Here," Historia says kindly, kneeling down and pulling out a handkerchief. "Blow your nose."

"Unfortunately for you, kid," Ymir says. "We already gave away all the food that was in that."

"You're hungry?" Historia's eyes widen.

"Of course he is, Historia. He lives on the streets. Probably begging when he feels like it," Ymir says.

The kid glares at her.

"What?" she asks. "It sucks. I _know_ it sucks."

"I don't have any—"

"I still have some money," Ymir says begrudgingly. "Let's get him something to eat, or else we'll never get back, will we?"

"You're buying me food?" the kid demands. " _Why?_ I hit—"

"We all do nasty things to survive," Ymir tells him. "Just don't forget to be kind, either. Or some crap like that. It's what she's thinking." She jerks her thumb towards Historia, who looks at Ymir with huge eyes, as if she's seeing a new side of Ymir.

"We should take him to the orphanage," Historia whispers.

"I suspect he already lives there and is just running late," Ymir says loudly as she stops by a vendor selling hot, cinnamon-coated bread.

The kid nods.

"Well, we'll walk you back," Historia declares as Ymir purchases the stick, handing it to the kid.

He looks at her, still in shock. "Why?"

"What she says. Don't forget to be kind." Ymir ruffles the kid's hair. It's greasy, matted.

"It's what you've said," the kid points out.

"What's your name?" Historia asks.

"Franz," he whispers.

 _Like Franz and Hannah…_ Ymir's heart, the one she likes to pretend doesn't exist, hurts. "Let's get you back, kid."

They make the journey in silence, Franz munching on the cinnamon stick. When they reach the fence, a worker heads towards them and Historia crouches down to Franz's eye level. "We'll visit," she promises.

"Why?" he demands again, voice ragged. "I'm not—I'm—"

"You're worth the trip," Historia assures him, wrapping her arms around him. "And so much more."

"Hey," Ymir says. He looks up at her, eyes wide. "We're not telling on you, don't worry. But next time, make sure you're here for my flying lessons." With that, Ymir turns on her heel and stalks away. Now, the sky's completely black. One patch glows lighter, as if the moon's trying desperately to break through the crowds.

"You surprised me," Historia says quietly.

 _Dammit_. "It's what Christmas is about, isn't it?" Ymir grumbles.

"Yes, _but_. There's more. Isn't there?" Historia looks up to her, and that look on her face—she _wants_ to know. She cares.

"You know I begged," Ymir grumbles. "After I got into the city, after Wall Maria fell. I took a refugee's position on that boat, you know. I was an interloper and I took someone else's spot. And sometimes begging didn't work out, and stealing was my best bet."

"You saw yourself," Historia realizes.

"Yeah." Ymir laughs. "And in case you had any doubts about what a bad person I am, I—"

"How are you bad?" Historia demands. "You call me on my bullshit, Ymir—no one else does that. You're kinder than you—"

"Maybe I just wanted to impress you," Ymir tells her, spinning around to face Historia. She walks backwards, and she thinks how she doesn't even know—everything's a muddled mess to her, and she can't discern what's her desires, what's her—

"I don't care," Historia declares, tears choking her voice. "I'm on your side, Ymir. No matter what. I'll _always_ be on your side."

Ymir shakes her head. "Maybe I'm just trying to ensure you won't rat on me—"

" _Ymir_." Historia cuts in. "Enough of _your_ —" She tugs at Ymir's cloak. "I _told_ you already. I'm on your side."

 _You're so special, Historia, and I don't think you even realize it,_ Ymir thinks. _Who else would love me like this? Would know all of these things and still even_ care?

 _Screw it._ It may be selfish, but Ymir needs this. She leans down and presses her lips against Historia's. Historia digs her fingers through Ymir's hair, and Ymir only realizes she's crying when she pulls away.

"I _love_ you, Ymir," Historia insists.

"I love _you_ ," Ymir sobs, wiping at her eyes.

"I'm going to need you when we get back," Historia whispers.

"You don't _need_ me for—"

"I _want_ you, Ymir." Historia meets Ymir's eyes. "I'm going to tell Erwin about who I am—that I'm Historia Reiss, not Christa Lenz. And you—I'll keep your secret until you're ready." She trudges ahead, and Ymir's left to watch her as the moon finally breaks through, shining down on them. "After all, you kept mine."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Up next: Reibert.**


	8. North Star

"What do you think they're talking about?" Eren asks, biting into his bread. "They've been in there since last night."

Bertolt can feel sweat dripping down his back, even though the fire isn't even doing much to warm the room. Reiner clenches his hands on the edge of the table.

" _You think Ymir's what?" Bertolt demanded the night before._

" _Shh!" Reiner hissed._

But if she _is_ —that means she's got to be the one who ate Marcel, Bertolt reasons. But she won't remember. At least he doubts it.

Just like he doesn't remember… Bertolt tightens his fist.

 _She can't know much,_ he tries to reassure himself.

Annie flicks Armin's hair from across the table. _But Annie knows everything._ And Bertolt can't understand why she seems to be avoiding him and Reiner, and why she's gotten so involved with the Military Police versus the Survey Corps. Is she forgetting whom she works for, as Reiner's Warrior persona likes to say, or playing a long con, like Reiner's soldier persona tries to believe? She certainly hasn't ratted either of them out yet.

Erwin strides into the hall, grabbing Levi and Hange by the shoulders, his expression dark. Ymir and Christa follow. Reiner straightens, gaze focused on Christa. Both girls look as if they've been sobbing for hours.

"Geez, what did you do, Ymir?" Reiner demands.

Annie glares at him. Even Mikasa scowls.

"Nothing," Christa says. "It's me."

"You?" Reiner gapes.

"There's no way," Jean states.

"You're an angel," Reiner says.

"We may know who's behind the Military Police's hatred of the Survey Corps," Ymir says.

"It has to do with my father," Christa says, looping her hand through Ymir's. "Rod Reiss."

"What?" Eren's eyes bug out. "But—"

"My name is not Christa," she says, setting her jaw. "It's Historia."

"I also told them about me," Ymir says. "You know, that I'm a titan."

Annie's spoon clatters on her plate. Eren's jaw drops. Bertolt feels as if someone shot him in the abdomen.

"Like you," Ymir tells Eren, calmly reaching for a loaf of bread. "Now you'll have a buddy for experiments." She tears off a chunk of bread.

Bertolt huddles into himself. _No, no, no!_ If this craziness continues, they'll have to take action—and hurting his friends—the notion makes Bertolt want to vomit.

 _You can't really consider yourself their friend. They're your enemies. Children of the devil, just like you, except you're at least able to side with the Marlayans._

 _You can't be reconsidering the mission!_ he yells at himself.

"Annie, what are you doing this morning?" Reiner asks abruptly as Connie and Sasha tease Chris— _Historia_ about whether they need to bow down to her now or not.

"Armin and I are going ice skating," Annie replies, taking Armin's hand. He grins at her.

 _Oh my—he can't know,_ Bertolt tells himself. There's no way Armin Arlert wouldn't have ratted them out if he knew.

 _How did they survive that snowstorm, if not through Annie's powers?_

 _There are ways,_ Bertolt tries to convince himself. Because he lives in such a web of deceptions he's not even sure what's true or what's a lie, or what he even wants to be true anymore.

 _It's all on you._ He at least has a better grasp of reality than Reiner does.

"Can we come?" Reiner asks eagerly.

"Sure," Armin agrees instantly. Annie scowls.

It can't all rest on him. He's not capable.

The screams of the people in Trost haunt his dreams, and each night Bertolt wakes in a new position, legs twisted, arm up, arm down, neck curled and throbbing, unaware of how he got in that position, only remembering dreams of running and running and running from shadowed things.

Marco grins at them, and Bertolt remembers how terrified he'd been for Marco when he saw his injuries, saw all the blood, all the shattered bones.

 _You're not supposed to feel for them. And even if you, your mission is more important._

 _I'm a failure._

"Talk to Annie," hisses Reiner, clapping Bertolt on the back. "You can do it."

"That's not—" Bertolt stutters. What I need, he wants to finish, but he doesn't get a chance. Reiner just winks and hurries on ahead.

 _Why?_ Every time he looks at Annie he wants to dissolve into a puddle on the floor. Everyone's always had such expectations for him, because of his size, his skill, his titan power—and yet Bertolt can't help but feel dispensable, weak in ways everyone here, as ignorant as they are, are not. _I am their enemy, and their friend._ When they began this mission, he had Marcel and Reiner by his side, and Annie to look at, to admire. She is his hometown to him—what awaits him when this is all over. He convinced himself they were his protection, that as long as he stuck with them, he could do anything.

Increasingly, he feels alone.

"You want to talk to me?" Annie asks, hanging back as they tromp through the snow, Reiner and Armin cackling up ahead.

Ice coats Bertolt's innards. "Did Reiner tell you?"

"No. I just figured one of you would sooner rather than later." She glares at the snow, kicking it with her boots. Skates dangle over her shoulders. "Are you worried about failing?"

"N-no," he stammers. _Yes_.

"You're always scared," Annie tells him. "Well? What do you want to ask me?"

"The night you were lost with Armin—" He can't finish.

Annie shrugs.

Terror spikes through Bertolt's stomach. "How much does he know?"

"Everything."

"What?" Bertolt whispers, hoarse. _Everything? He can't. She can't_. How—

"And he still loves me," Annie says, voice trembling.

"Annie—" he chokes out. "You—"

"I love him, Bertolt, yes, I do." She faces him, fury written over her features. "And I'm not going to hurt him. If you want to turn into a titan right here, right now, go for it. Try to kill us both, but I swear to you I will take Armin and run, and you both know that neither of you can catch me."

"I'm not," Bertolt ekes out. Maybe he should. _Make for Zeke, make for_ —home.

Where he'd be safe.

 _Would you be?_

"You can't pretend you haven't had doubts. Don't give me that shit."

"What about your father?" he cries out.

Tears fill Annie's eyes. "I just—I wanted to choose what would give me the least regrets. I'll never be forgiven, not by most people, and maybe I'll die with them, but Bertolt—he forgave me. He _knows_ , and he forgave me, and—" Her voice catches. "Most won't be like him, but I'm ready to take it."

 _You're actually going to do this._ He feels dizzy. "When?" Bertolt asks. _How long do we have?_

Annie smirks, but he can tell she won't answer that. But knowing Armin, he has a plan. "Don't you see them fighting for something, and they don't know the real reason they're fighting because some idiot decided it'd be better if they didn't? Don't you wonder if we're not exactly like them? If we've been lied to?"

Bertolt's spine stiffens. _What if the Marlayans are lying?_

 _What if these people aren't the devil at all?_ He hears laughter up ahead, and his heart seizes.

 _What if there isn't even a home to go back to? What if they don't plan to make our families honorary Marlayans?_

"You know," Annie begins as Reiner and Armin reach the frozen lake and begin strapping skates on. "I've always thought you were a fool, Bertolt."

Shame curdles inside him. _I don't even know which choice makes me less foolish, which side—I'm pathetic._

"You're a fool for ignoring what's right in front of you for an ideal that isn't even what you want it to be," Annie says. She jerks her head at someone as she breaks into a run, heading for Armin.

Bertolt sees Reiner watching him, his closest friend, the one friend who's always protected him, whom he can lean on, who is his strength.

 _I'm scared, Reiner,_ he wants to say, but he can't, not yet.

First, he has to pretend to have _fun_. And worse, maybe actually have fun, all the while knowing exactly what he is.

In these moments, he's almost jealous of Reiner's ability to forget what he is. Because Bertolt never can.

* * *

"You finally left your boyfriend?" Reiner teases Jean as he shows up.

"He insisted," Jean grumbles.

"Well, I'm happy for the two of you," Reiner acknowledges. A cold wind blows across the pond, and he watches as Bertolt steps onto the ice, arms wobbling. _If it can work out for Marco_ …

"How long did you know?" Jean asks, neck snapping up to look into Reiner's eyes. "About Marco—that he liked me? Was I the only idiot who didn't know?"

"Eren's oblivious, but—"

"Don't compare me to him!" Jean shouts.

Reiner claps Jean on the shoulder. "You and Marco deserve each other. Really."

"I don't know," Jean admits. "He's so—nice. And strong. People look up to him. They roll their eyes at me."

" _He_ doesn't, though," Reiner points out. Jean was exactly the kind of guy he expected everyone who lived behind the walls to be—arrogant, snotty, brash. And then when Reiner got to know him more, he realized there's a lot more to Jean. He's compassionate and has strong moral principles, and he feels things deeply.

And he still has to die. He and Marco both. It seems wrong that the people whose love story gives Reiner hope like he's never had have to die for—for what? For something their ancestors did?

" _They're children of the devil!" Zeke told Reiner, grasping the back of his neck. "Now fight me again. Don't lose, this time."_

 _Reiner spat blood from his mouth and looked past Zeke, to Bertolt's stricken face. He had to do this. He had to._

Bertolt yelps as he falls back onto his ass. Annie laughs as she and Armin skate around together.

"C'mon," Reiner calls, skating over to Bertolt and reaching down. He pulls Bertolt up.

 _Muffled sobs ripped through the room. It was cold and damp, and Reiner curled up, trying to sleep. When he closed his eyes, he saw his parents—his father shoving him away, his mother crying but telling him he had to do this, this was for all of them, it was all on his shoulders and he could do it. "You're strong," she assured him, lifting his chin up. "My strongest baby."_

 _But even at his age—six—Reiner knew that most of the boys and girls who joined the Warrior program never returned._

" _Quiet, stupid!" hissed Marcel. "Or you'll get—"_

" _Who's making the ruckus?" bellowed a bearded man as he flung the door open. "Make any more noise, and I'll—"_

" _It's him," said Emmett, pointing to the tall, skinny boy, who huddled against the wall. He wet himself last night, Reiner remembered._

" _You! All you do is cause problems!" The man stormed over to him, grabbing the boy by the throat. "They said you had strength testings like they'd never seen before. You better prove them right, if you want to live. Or be weak, and die." He punched the boy in the stomach, and then marched out. "Go to sleep!"_

 _The boy kept crying. Quieter though, now, but as everyone else drifted off to sleep, Reiner could still hear the sniffs. And there was this feeling in him, this electricity—the feeling that he should do something. And so he pried himself up, scuttled over to the boy. "Hey."_

 _The boy lifted his hand from his face, peering up at Reiner with wide, terrified eyes._

" _I'm Reiner Braun," he said._

" _B-Bertolt Hoover."_

" _Why're you crying?"_

" _I just want to—want to—go home," Bertolt eked out. "I'm scared. And I don't like it here. I miss my mom."_

" _Neither do I," Reiner admitted. "And I miss mine, too." He wrapped an arm around Bertolt, and the boy gasped. "We'll go home eventually. I promise."_

" _But m-most people die."_

" _We won't. You had the best scores, right? I had second-best. I'll beat you from here on out, but you'll be in second, I promise."_

 _Bertolt giggled. "And the blond girl was third. Annie. The pretty one."_

 _Reiner hadn't noticed her. "I'll keep you safe," he added. "I promise."_

From that day on, Bertl was Reiner's shadow. And Reiner kept his second promise, and his first—well, in the scouts he got second and Bertolt third, but it was close enough. As for the first promise—they're so close to fulfilling it. Reiner grits his teeth.

"Reiner, I—" Bertolt starts as his legs slip out.

"Don't do anything," Reiner instructs. "Just follow my lead." He skates back, clinging to Bertolt's hands as they glide across the ice. Bertolt's jaw drops, and a grin slides over his face.

"Dammit!" Jean falls down again. Armin struggles as Annie lets go, trying to teach him how to skate on his own.

 _My friends_ , Reiner thinks as he gazes around.

"Go, Armin, go!" Annie cheers as Armin tries to make it across the pond on his own. Jean hoots, clapping his hands. Reiner lets go of Bertolt to watch.

"You can do it!" he hollers when Armin wobbles. "C'mon, Arlert!"

He's almost there when Armin's leg goes out, and he collapses with a yelp.

"Shit!" Annie heads for him. Reiner kicks off to skate after her, only to hear a gasp behind him as his blade collides with something.

" _Bertolt!"_ he hears Jean scream.

Reiner spins around, dread pooling in his stomach.

Bertolt lies on the ice, clutching his abdomen. Blood spills from a gash—a _deep_ gash.

 _What did I do?_

In horror, Reiner looks down at his skates to see the left one coated in crimson.

"Bertolt!" he shouts, dropping to his knees. 'Are you—I—I'm sorry—"

"That's bad," Jean hisses from behind him as he turns Bertolt over. Bertolt's fingers splay, covering the laceration. "Geez, Reiner, how hard did you—"

 _I hurt Bertolt!_ "Bertl—I—I'm so—"

"What did you do?" Annie yells as she skates over, pulling Armin with her.

"I'm fine," Bertolt ekes out, pulling himself back up. Sweat coats his ashen face.

 _I basically impaled him!_ Reiner leans over, hurling.

"You're pale," Jean retorts. "You aren't fine, big guy."

"I'll get help," Armin says quickly, reaching down to untie his skates.

"Wait—" Reiner starts, but steam's already rising from Bertolt's abdomen.

Now Jean looks ashen. Armin gulps.

" _We can do this," Reiner encouraged Bertolt._

" _What about the person we'll eat?" Bertolt worried. "They'll be someone who couldn't use the powers—if we take after them—"_

" _We won't," Reiner assured him, gripping his shoulder, the shoulder he's noticed has become so much broader of late. "You're strong, Bertl. We can do this. We can end this cursed history."_

"Holy shit," Jean breathes. "You're—"

 _A titan_ , Reiner knows as he grasps Bertolt's shoulder, glaring back up at Jean. His hand trembles. _Do I bite? Why am I hesitating? I need to be a Warrior; mind, work!  
_

* * *

 _I've screwed us over. All of us_.

Bertolt gapes at Jean. Armin, though he already knew, looks broken, tears filling his eyes.

Blades slice as they're unsheathed. Annie holds out her blades, skating in front of Armin. "Get behind me, Jean."

"But we should at least talk _first_ ," Jean protests.

"I'm a titan too!" Annie screams. "But you can't trust these two!"

"What the—you skank!" Jean erupts.

"Don't call her that!" Armin yells.

Reiner's hand hovers by his mouth. Bertolt lifts his own. They could mount a suicide mission—maybe make it to the wall and destroy it before they're taken down— _but you'll never see your home again then._

And he'd have to kill Annie, and Bertolt will never do that. He can't. Even if she's a traitor to their mission.

"You," Jean breathes. " _Colossal titan!_ Aren't you, Bertolt? _Aren't you?"_

Bertolt can't speak. Cold, damp ice seeps through his pants.

"You murderers!" Jean cries out. "And you—what was—you joined us and you pretended to be our friends, all the while wanting to kill us?"

"No!" Bertolt shakes his head. "No— _no_ , Jean! I—"

"Why?"

"Because they were forced to, in a sense," Armin says. Annie still glares at both of them, as if daring them to transform. _You know you'd die, Annie, and you still choose them?_

"You _know?"_ Jean shrieks. "Eren's going to—and I won't even be able to blame him!" His voice cracks, and tears run down his face. Tears Bertolt knows he caused, and it's such a sick feeling—the shame that's been stewing inside him for the past three years, the screams he knows he caused the reverberate in his mind when he tries to sleep.

 _I'm nothing more than a mass-murderer._

 _It's for the right cause, though—isn't it?_

 _Is there ever a right cause when it comes to murdering millions?_

"You have until Christmas," Annie tells them. "To leave. Or to tell Erwin. But you'll have to pick a side then. I've chosen mine."

 _Tell Erwin?_ Bertolt can only imagine how that'll go. _Hi, I'm actually the colossal titan, and I smashed the wall, and by the way, this is the armored titan—you know, the one who broke through the gate and massacred so many? Please don't kill us._

"You're giving them time?" Jean snaps. "How do you know they won't try to kill us in our sleep, Annie? Kill us all?"

"Because," Annie says. "They won't hurt me. And this one's not suicidal." She nods at Bertolt.

"I agree," Armin says softly.

"I'm telling Erwin on Christmas," Annie announces. "And don't yell at me for not saying anything now, Jean. I just—for my _whole_ life, since I was five, I've been a warrior. I just wanted a few weeks, and now just a few more days, where I can have friends, where I'm not a pawn in someone else's war, where I'm not a titan. Okay?"

Armin takes her hand.

"Why?" Bertolt croaks.

Reiner glances sharply at him.

"Why do you believe there's even a chance we'll side with you?" Bertolt demands. "Why—"

"Because you enjoy being a soldier, don't you?" Annie asks.

"I—" Bertolt's face crumples. "It's the only time I've ever enjoyed in my life."

"Bertolt—Reiner—" Armin crouches down, and then promptly falls on his butt, skate shooting out and slicing in Bertolt's ankle. He winces.

"It'll heal," Bertolt mutters.

"We just want to know why," Armin whispers. "And—regardless of what you choose to do from here on out—I forgive you for what you did in Shiganshina." His voice trembles.

"What are you saying?" Reiner demands. "You can't—"

"Well, I do. But I won't let you massacre anyone else. I'll stop you by any means necessary, but—I don't want to hurt you." Armin wipes at his eyes. "Because you were my friends."

Bertolt's never felt so cold in his entire life. Tremors ripple through him.

"We'll leave you here. If we see titans coming back, we're taking you down," Annie warns, grabbing Armin and hauling him up by the waist. "Come on, Jean."

They skate off, and Bertolt curses, curling his fingers into fists. "I'm sorry, Reiner—if I hadn't—"

"I'm the one who cut you," Reiner whispers.

"I moved when I shouldn't have. Why do I always make these mistakes?" Bertolt slams his forehead into his palm. "If I was more like you—"

"Why would you want to be more like me?" Reiner demands, grabbing Bertolt's shoulders. "I'm just—glad you're okay. And I—"

 _Why_ wouldn't _I want to be like you_? Bertolt leans over, pressing his eyes against his knees. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Reiner admits, and he sounds so broken that Bertolt can't stand it. _Not Reiner_ — _he should always be strong_. He's been Bertolt's rock for so many years.

 _I never wanted any of this._

 _Why us? Why us? Why us?_

 _It's not fair!_ Bertolt kicks the ice, wishing it would swallow them both, drown them so they wouldn't have to make a choice—drown _him_ , at least.

Reiner looks at him, his lips trembling and eyes crunched with agony, and he remembers what Annie said. _You're a fool... can't see what's in front of you._

 _Has Reiner ever expressed interest in a girl?_

 _Christa. But_ —Bertolt swallows. _Reiner, you didn't trust me with this?_

 _Your titan armor isn't the only armor you have, is it?_

"We have to," Reiner declares, rising. "Get up."

"Reiner?" Bertolt stammers, and then he sees in Reiner's eyes that it's his Warrior persona, the one that would take over during the days of their training with the Warriors, the one who smashed through the gate at Wall Maria without a second thought.

"We're going home," Reiner vows. "I promised you, didn't I?"

 _What will you gain if you get home and Reiner's—what will he become?_ Bertolt wonders. Reiner's already so split, so torn, and his inability to keep his mind straight—Bertolt sees how Reiner bleeds, how he can barely survive some days. He sees how much he loves Eren, stupid as the kid is, Marco, Jean, Connie.

 _Home isn't home without you, Reiner, and I just—I want you happy._ "Reiner—"

Reiner lifts his hand towards his mouth, and Bertolt springs to his feet, sliding on the ice. His arms grasp Reiner by his waist. They both slam into the ice. Bertolt's chin smacks against the back of Reiner's knee. " _What are you—"_ Reiner bellows.

"Wait!" Bertolt yells, struggling to hold Reiner down. "Listen to me, Reiner—"

Reiner flips over, and Bertolt gasps, chomping down on the insides of his cheeks as he grabs Reiner's shoulders. Reiner strains, as if in a panic. "Listen!" Bertolt screams.

Reiner stills, looking up at him with something like fear. _I have a chance._ "Listen, Reiner," Bertolt tries. "I—I know—I want you to be—I want to you to choose who you want to be right now, if you can. Reiner the soldier, Reiner the Warrior—I don't want you to do anything you'll regret." He chokes back tears. _I want to know who you really are, what you really want, Reiner._

 _Because everything hinges on you. You're my hope._

* * *

"Everything we do is a regret," Reiner whispers, meeting Bertolt's eyes. He tries to free his mind—it feels as if there are hands grappling for it, and he's drowning.

"Does it have to be?" Bertolt demands, hovering over him. Reiner tries to remember to breathe— _don't overreact_ —

"Either way, we're going to have regrets—if we betray the Mareyans, we'll always worry we sided with the devil—and our families—but if we side with them—Annie, and our friends—" he tries to reason. Something presses against his leg. _Huh?_ Bertolt flushes and rolls off him.

 _Think_. "It's too late for us, isn't it?"

"We can't be forgiven," Bertolt whispers, staring at the fogged-up ice.

"Does that mean we shouldn't try?" Reiner asks, sitting up with a wince. Man, his head hurts.

"We can hope for a Christmas miracle," Bertolt tries to joke. It falls flat. A flock of geese fly overhead.

"If we do this—" Reiner starts. "I'm not reliable, you know that, Bertolt. You'll have to stop me if I—"

"I will." Bertolt looks at him, and Reiner's heart swells with pride.

"We might not be able to go home."

Bertolt looks at Reiner, nodding. "I know."

 _Why is it okay now?_ Reiner wonders. He shifts onto his knees. "This is what you want to do?"

"I—" Bertolt hesitates.

"Oh for fuck's sake, listen to yourself, Bertolt. You're not nearly as worthless as you think you are. You're good as who you are. I—" _I like you for being Bertolt. Please don't ever say you want to be like me again._ "Make your choice."

"I choose to stay here," Bertolt whispers. He slams his fist into the ice. " _Dammit!"_

"Let's go, then, and tell them," Reiner says. "No sense in keeping them in suspense."

"I'm scared," Bertolt whispers as he gets to his feet. He wobbles, and Reiner catches his wrists, steadying him.

"Me too," Reiner admits as they make it off the pond at last. "But I'll be with you." He squares his shoulders.

"Reiner—" Bertolt begins.

"What?" He crouches and unties his skates.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?" Reiner looks over and— _oh shit._ He knows. "You like Annie."

Bertolt tosses his skates over his shoulder and reaches down, taking Reiner by his chin.

 _What is happening?_ Reiner's heart pounds. He feels small, for the first time in years.

"Um—can you kiss me?" Bertolt requests. "I don't—know how."

 _You want me to?_ Reiner looks into Bertolt's face, at the seriousness of his expression, the earnest—and what happened on the ice, when Bertolt pinned him down— _how?_

He doesn't deserve someone like Bertolt.

But the determination fueling Bertolt's gaze tells him Bertl would disagree. Reiner's palms slicken with sweat. He leans forward, lips folding over Bertl's, and Bertl opens his mouth, wraps his arms around Reiner, and tears sting Reiner's eyes.

Because for the first time since he left home, he feels safe. And Reiner breaks down for the first time maybe ever, clinging to Bertolt as he sobs into his chest. "I love you," he manages. "I _love_ you."

He feels Bertolt's lips on his forehead, on his hair. "I love you too, Reiner." He clasps Reiner's wet cheeks in his hands, turning his face up to see his. "We're going to do this. Together."

 _We're not warriors anymore,_ Reiner thinks. He's just Reiner Braun, and the boy holding him is Bertolt Hoover, and maybe that's all they were ever meant to be.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, and for all your reviews-I so appreciate them! Up next: Mikenana.**


	9. Candlelight and Red Poinsettias

"Jean, what's the matter?" Marco blurts out as Jean marches back inside, dragging his hands through his hair as if his brains are trying to break out of his skull.

"Are you okay, Kirchstein?" Nanaba can't help but ask. And she really doesn't have time for drama from the 104th today. But Jean looks really distressed.

"I'm fine," Jean chokes out. He drops down next to Marco, wrapping his arms around him. Marco looks stunned.

Nanaba bites her lip. She envies them, almost. They're still young, and they still have enough hope within their grasp that they're willing to spend their feelings on each other. Their friendships are some of the strongest she's ever seen, and the multiple romantic relationships she's seem blooming between them—it's heartwarming.

 _What are we fighting for, after all?_

"How many times did you fall on your ass today, Jean-boy?" quips Eren as he saunters by.

Jean pries his face away from Marco's uninjured shoulder. "Go to—"

Mikasa raises her eyebrows at Jean, as if daring him to finish the insult. Marco smiles at her, and she smiles back, albeit smaller than his. And then her brow furrows.

 _What's wrong with_ her _, now?_ Nanaba bites back a groan. She's noticed how Mikasa seems to be awake at strange hours, prowling the hallways with Sasha sometimes, and at other times, alone. It's as if she's looking for something, but when Nanaba confronted her, she insisted she was just trying to tire herself out to fall sleep.

The door bangs open, and Reiner and Bertolt stagger in. Jean jumps.

Both of them look like they've been crying, with swollen noses and blotchy cheeks.

"Did you all get in a fight?" Nanaba demands.

"Sort of," Reiner ekes out. He looks over at Jean, who glares. Reiner swallows. "I'm sorry, Jean. I'm really sorry."

Marco looks completely bewildered. Eren frowns.

Armin and Annie peep around a corner. Bertolt gives her a nod.

 _Whatever_. Nanaba's certain they'll figure this out.

" _They're a special group," Erwin said earlier that afternoon, as he told them all about Historia Reiss, and his suspicions._

" _Pastor Nick confirmed to me that the Reisses are the real royal family, not the Fritzes," Hange admitted._

" _They'll fight for their friends," Erwin said._

 _Levi grunted._

" _Should we cancel the rest of the celebrations?" Nanaba wondered._

" _No," Erwin insisted. "Keep planning for the Christmas Eve party, Nanaba. The rest of us will work out a plan to instate Historia Reiss."_

" _Is she really willing to do that, though?" Nanaba demanded. She knew Historia had to, but—of all the new recruits, she's the most timid, and Nanaba wants to protect her._

" _She agreed to, however reluctantly," Levi said. "Albeit that other girl is helping her."_

Nanaba hurries down the hallway, her boots clopping against the stone.

"When you're queen," she hears Sasha Braus saying. "Will you order better rations for us?"

"I wouldn't object to that, Historia," Ymir drawls.

Nanaba was one of the few from her training group to join the Survey Corps. She wonders sometimes about the rest of them, but not too much, because she knows that whether they joined the Military Police or the Garrison, they're almost certainly still alive. Of those who joined the Survey Corps, she's the only one who has survived this long.

Sometimes, late at night when she can't sleep, she wonders if loneliness feels like this: gnawing, relentless, ripping her apart like a titan, louder than the screams of her comrades.

She ducks into the small supply room she's been hoarding decorations for the Christmas Eve party. A large figure looms. She jumps, stumbling backwards and knocking over a box of candles. They clatter against the floor.

"Sorry," exclaims Mike, reaching out to steady Nanaba's shoulders. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," Nanaba stammers.

"I thought you could use some help," Mike says, kneeling to pick up the candles.

"Oh. Thanks." Nanaba joins him.

"You seemed concerned at the meeting earlier," Mike ventures.

Nanaba brushes the hair out of her eyes. "I just worry about whether Erwin's plan will work. I know they usually do, but there's a lot riding on this. And I worry that we should be focusing on putting Historia on the throne, as opposed to celebrating a forgotten holiday."

"Fair enough," Mike agrees. This is probably the most she's ever heard him talk. He rests his chin on his fist, elbow against his knee. "Do you know about Erwin's father?"

"Hm?" Nanaba cocks her head. "No?"

"He suspected that the first king erased everyone's memories," Mike explains. "He told Erwin this—and Erwin told his friends at school."

Nanaba gulps. "Oh no."

Mike nods. "I'm sure you can imagine what happened."

 _Poor Erwin._ She's always looked up to him as her commander, as someone who isn't afraid to sacrifice himself and countless others towards the goal of restoring humanity. It's strange thinking of him as a broken child who probably cried.

 _Do you ever get over that kind of loss?_

"He's fascinated with the world before the walls," Mike says. "Even if he seldom talks about it."

"Do you think we have a hope of succeeding?" Nanaba asks. "With Historia?"

Mike pauses, putting the last of the candles away. "We'll never know until we try."

"Sometimes I wonder if we're not all doomed," Nanaba admits. "Even with Eren on our side now—it still feels like we're so far away from getting answers, from victory. It's like we're so close, and yet—it feels farther away than ever." And inside her, traitorous thought wriggle. Questions, like whether or not it'll be worth it in the end.

"As long as we're still fighting, we'll never be defeated," Mike tells her.

"Right." Nanaba manages a small smile. "So, you really want to help me?"

He nods.

"Great."

* * *

"How are the preparations coming?" Erwin asks as he pours over a letter on his desk.

"Well," Mike reports. "Nanaba's got lots of great plans. Candles and special poinsettias, and something called mistletoe. It'll look really beautiful."

Erwin arches an eyebrow. "I didn't know you had an eye for that kind of thing, Mike."

He shrugs, wandering over to the windows. He presses his forehead against the pane, the cold seeping into his skin.

"So," Erwin begins. "Are you going to tell Nanaba how you feel?"

Mike isn't even that surprised. Erwin notices everything. "How long have you known?" he asks, without so much as flinching.

"Almost a year now," Erwin answers. "She's a brave soldier. Dependable. Loyal. She's devoted to taking care of those new recruits."

"I've noticed."

"I've noticed you've noticed."

Mike turns to see Erwin with a small smile on his face. "It doesn't bother you at all?"

"No," Erwin states. "I'm well aware that not everyone can be like me. And I don't even think I should be like me, not half the time. She's a great woman, Mike."

"Did you give a similar spiel to Levi?"

"Levi doesn't do well with being preached at," Erwin replies. "You have to be slyer than that, with him."

"Why do you want us all to be so happy?" Mike questions, moving away from the window. The sun glows on the horizon, pink ribbons splaying across the sky. "Don't you worry that it will make sacrifice less likely?"

Erwin picks up a pen, rolling it around between his fingers. Paper snowflakes dangle from over his desk. "I think it's up to each person to know their own limitations."

Mike nods.

He remembers the first time he saw Nanaba. He was impressed with that soldier's skill, though he wasn't certain whether the soldier was a woman or a man, not until after the expedition and he heard her speak, comforting a dying soldier.

"I pretend I've give up so much," Erwin says suddenly, and Mike snaps out of his memories.

 _Pretend?_

"I still have my life," Erwin says. "After all. So many don't. And we don't even know for what purpose, but—with Ymir, and Eren, and Historia—I feel hope, Mike. Concrete hope, for the first time in years."

Mike nods. He feels it, too. We have two titans now. One from beyond the walls, even if she's currently claiming she doesn't remember much of anything.

" _We've been killing humans," Levi whispered after Ymir left their meeting that afternoon._

" _Don't let yourself regret it," Erwin said sharply._

" _I won't regret it more than I'd regret having let our comrades die," Levi said quietly. Hange gripped the edges of her chair, a sick look on her face._

 _But how did they get that way? Who made them into titans? Did they sign up to become monsters, or were they forced?_

That's the question none of them have any clue about.

"And sometimes," Erwin says. "I still have dreams. I want to find out what's in that basement, Mike. Eren's father's basement. I strongly believe it has the answers. But to do that—"

"We need to take back Wall Maria," Mike finishes. "And to do that, we need Historia Reiss on the throne."

"Right." Erwin leans forward, covering his eyes with his hands. "You can take your leave, Zacarius."

"Thank you." Mike strides towards the door, stalling as he reaches the threshold. "I think it's a good thing."

"What?" Erwin asks.

"That you have a dream." Because his crush on Nanaba doesn't limit him, Mike knows that, no matter how many times he fears it will. It motivates him.

He slips out the door and runs smack into Mikasa Ackerman, whose face is pinched an anxiety. "Ackerman?"

"I apologize, sir," Mikasa says swiftly, straightening her back. "I came to talk to the Commander."

"Go right in," Mike says, although he wonders. What exactly is she up to?

Mike hurries back to the store room, knocking before he opens it. Nanaba's kneeling down, clipping apart what looks like a plant with thick green leaves and small white berries.

"You're back," she states in surprise.

He nods. "What's that?"

"Mistletoe," Nanaba answers. "The book identifies it as an important Christmas decoration."

Mike sniffs. The scent is thick, and sweet. "Smells nice."

"Doesn't it?" Nanaba asks eagerly. "Guess what the legend is about it."

"There's a legend?"

"Well, a tradition. Although I question whether we can call anything a tradition anymore." Nanaba shrugs.

"What is it?" Mike questions.

"Lovers are supposed to kiss under it." Nanaba smiles as she examines a sprig she's cut.

"Why?" Mike asks. "For good luck, or—"

"I don't know why. Maybe just because." Nanaba smiles as she fiddles with the leaves. "Mike, are you up for helping me decorate some of the trees tomorrow? You're tall enough to reach some of the tops, and Sasha and Connie spent part of today painting stars and angels to put on top."

"I'd be honored to," Mike answers.

She cocks her head, as if she finds his response odd. _Is it?_ Mike frets.

"Do you ever get scared?" she asks, putting the mistletoe back down.

"When we're fighting titans?"

Nanaba nods. "Or of—what awaits us. With this uprising. Whatever it is."

"Yes," Mike answers honestly. "But I have to keep fighting. Because the moment I stop, I think I'll be overcome with it." That's why this past month has been one of the most uncomfortable months of Mike's life.

"That makes me feel better," Nanaba admits. "Not that I'm glad you're scared. But that I'm not alone. That you don't think I'm a coward for being afraid."

 _You care what I think of you?_ Mike's heart lifts. He reaches out and touches her shoulder. Her eyes fly to his, surprised. "I don't think you're a coward. I think you're brave." _And you inspire me._

His gaze focuses on the mistletoe below her. Mike lips his lips. His mouth suddenly feel dry.

She stares at him quizzically.

"I'll see you later," Mike says quickly, scuttling out of the room with a steady stream of voices in his own mind, all cursing him.

* * *

"What if the tree falls?" Nanaba worries aloud, staring a blue spruce.

"I secured it," Mike assures her. "It won't."

He's been like her shadow the past few days, and it's finally time. It's Christmas Eve, and tomorrow will be Christmas Day. They'll have food—meat, even—and then, life will resume and they'll begin their plan to put Historia Reiss on the throne.

Mike sniffs, a frown crossing his face.

"What?" Nanaba asks.

"It smells like titans," Mike tells her.

"What?" Nanaba's jaw drops. Horror shoots through her as she flattens her boots against the floor, feeling for any sort of rumble. _No—this can't be—_

"I'm joking," Mike insists.

"What?" Nanaba squeaks.

"I'm sorry—"

She slaps his shoulder. "You _idiot!_ I almost—"

Mike laughs, possibly for the first time since Nanaba's known him. His guffaw echoes across the hall, deep and powerful. Her stomach quivers, and her fingers and toes tingle.

"I would kick your ass if I could," Nanaba warns him.

"I'm pretty sure you could."

"You're humanity's second strongest soldier. I wouldn't have a chance." Nanaba tosses him a grin as she kneels down, surveying the room. There are three trees, one tall and elegant, about twice the size of Mike, and two shorter, fatter ones. A painted angel sits on top of the tall one; stars garnish the chubby ones. Tinsel strings the hall, cranberries dangle from the ceiling, and mistletoe sits in the center of the room.

"The question is," Mike muses. "Whether we tell the kids what the mistletoe stands for, or not."

"Get Levi and Hange to demonstrate. I'm sure Hange would be up for it."

Mike snorts. "I'm sure Levi wouldn't be."

Nanaba tries to picture Levi kissing anyone publicly and has to cackle. "I'm off to get ready."

"See you." Mike hurries in the opposite direction.

For whatever reason, Erwin wanted them all to dress up. Actually, the book's the reason, Nanaba's sure. She changes into a black dress, one that hugs the curves she usually deemphasizes.

"Nanaba!" squeals Petra as she leaves her room. Damn, it's cold. Her bare calves do not appreciate the exposure.

"What?" She takes in the beautiful redhead, dressed in a long burgundy gown. _Oruo's going to bite his tongue for sure._

"You look so pretty," Petra gushes.

That's not an adjective Nanaba's heard applied to her often. Her older sister was considered "pretty," so Nanaba might have had a chance, but she was always more interested in joining the military and chopping off her hair for ease with the maneuver gear. She manages a smile. "Thanks, Petra."

"Nanaba!" she hears Erwin calling the moment she enters the hall. Gunthur whistles as Oruo does, indeed, chomp on his tongue.

"Really?" Petra laughs, taking Oruo's arm.

"Yes, Commander?" Nanaba asks.

"This is—amazing," Erwin tells her, clutching her arm. Is that a tremble in his voice? "Thank you."

"Not bad," Levi comments from behind her, dressed in a dark suit. Hange's next to him, clad in a light blue silk suit. Her hair even looks as if she made an attempt to brush it, and she smells like she bothered to bathe.

"They're at it," comments a deep voice behind her. Nanaba spins to see Mike standing there, a red poinsettia leaf attached to his suit. He nods towards the mistletoe, where Jean and Marco lean in, kissing. Eren hoots, clapping his hands. Jean flips him off.

"Our turn," declares Annie, pulling Armin under the mistletoe. He wraps his arms around her, looking into her eyes as he presses his lips against hers.

Mike's eyes take Nanaba in. "You look—nice."

"Thanks," she mumbles.

"Beautiful," he corrects himself. "You look beautiful."

For some reason, Erwin nods as if satisfied.

Sasha and Connie peruse the cookies laid out on the table. But Reiner and Bertolt—they huddle in a corner, both of them wrapping their arms around themselves as if they'd like to disappear.

"I'm worried for them," Nanaba confesses aloud as Hange leads Levi off.

"Don't even," Levi threatens Hange.

"Who?" Mike asks.

"Braun and Hoover," Nanaba says, nodding to them. "They haven't been acting right the past few days. Ever since that ice skating outing."

"How so?" Mike asks. He's not dismissing her, she realizes. He studies them, looking actually concerned.

"Anxious. They haven't been socializing very much with the others, which is typical for Hover, but Braun seems like a big brother to so many of them, and he's been avoiding eye contact and barely speaking."

"Hm." Mike frowns. "Why not ask them if they're okay?"

"I don't know how receptive they'd be to that."

"Can't hurt." Mike raises his eyebrows. "I'll go with you, if you want."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Nanaba asks as she makes her way across the hall. The scents of spruce and fir and pine mingle in the air with ginger and sugar, and laughter rings all around them. She glances over her shoulder and finds Erwin. He looks dazed.

 _If we win peace, then what?_

Mike shrugs.

Nanaba frowns. _Back to silent, I see_. "Braun. Hoover."

Bertolt flinches. Reiner grabs his hand, as if steadying him.

 _Oh no._

 _Are they—_

 _What is with all the love in the air?_ Nanaba wants to shriek.

"Yes?" Reiner asks.

"Do you like the party?" Nanaba questions, candlelight flickering across their faces.

"It's very festive," Reiner says as Petra and Oruo burst into song. _"Joy to the world!"_ Her cold seems to have healed. Too bad Oruo apparently didn't contract it.

"Everyone seems so happy," Bertolt whispers.

"Let earth receive her _queen!"_ Ymir warbles, grabbing Historia by the waist and swinging her around.

 _How much punch did she have?_ Nanaba wonders. "I'm worried about you two," she says bluntly.

"Wh-why?" stammers Bertolt, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Because you don't seem like you're enjoying yourselves, and you're secluding yourselves. Is something the matter?" Nanaba presses.

Reiner swallows, keeping his grip on Bertolt's hand.

"You know," Nanaba says. "In the Survey Corps, we do care about you beyond what you can do as a soldier. We thrive on trust. If you need to talk, I am around, and I'd be happy to listen."

Mike studies her, a soft look in his eyes.

Reiner's jaw quivers, and he almost looks ready to burst into tears.

"We'll keep that in mind," Bertolt says. "And—thank you."

"You're welcome." She shrugs at Mike. _I tried._

Eren grabs Mikasa's hand, dragging her by them. _Where are those two off to?_

"Commander Erwin!" Eld shouts, charging into the hall. Snow dusts his hair, melting fast. He almost knocks over a pot of red poinsettias and stops to right it.

Everyone stops, swiveling about to gape.

"Those two Military Police brats are back!"

* * *

 _They're a day early._ Well, half a day, if you go by hours.

Annie's hand covers her mouth. Armin clutches her hand, and Mike sees Nanaba taking it all in. Historia flinches, and Ymir places her hands on her shoulders, whispering something in Historia's ears. Historia straightens.

 _Our queen,_ Mike realizes.

"Um, hi," stammers the boy with the black hair—Marlowe, if Mike remembers correctly. Marlowe and Hitch. The girl next to him clutches an overstuffed bag to her chest and looks around at the Survey Corps members like she expects them to jump her and clap her in handcuffs.

"Welcome," Erwin says smoothly, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "We're happy to have you."

Marlowe raises his head to look in Erwin's eyes.

"Now that you're no longer spying on us," Levi comments darkly.

Marlowe gulps, as if embarrassed. Hitch shrugs. Mike notices their hands entwined.

"Why don't you have something to eat?" Nanaba asks, sweeping closer to the kids. "Or something to drink. We have punch, and eggnog."

"A drink made from eggs?" Hitch asks, nose wrinkling.

"It tastes like cinnamon and nutmeg," Annie says, stepping closer to them. "I'm glad to see you both."

Hitch grins. "See, I told you, Marlowe."

"So do you have information?" Levi demands, his elbow hooked around Hange's.

Marlowe nods.

"Get some eggnog, and then we'll talk," Nanaba tells them, glancing back at Mike. He nods.

Mike's heart pounds. _Who's behind all this?_ He has his suspicions. Erwin grips the back of his skull.

 _Please let Nile have a minimal role,_ Mike finds himself wishing. He doesn't want any more hurt for his commander. He remembers Erwin and Nile from training days; they were practically joined at the hip, both wildly ambitious men with strong ideals. And they both fell in love with the same woman, except Erwin decided to give her up for his goals.

Nanaba sidles up to Mike again, and he feels something warm and sizzling shoot through him, a feeling he doesn't know he's ever felt before, but that he's fairly certain he's seen before.

It's how Erwin looked when he met Marie, and how Nile beamed on the day he kissed Marie and they were pronounced husband and wife.

 _Is it selfish of me?_

 _She's a capable woman,_ Mike reminds himself. _She can decide for herself_.

If he can just get up the nerve to tell her.

Nanaba stays behind to man the party. Mike joins Hange, Levi, and Erwin, plus Hitch and Marlowe, in the corridor just outside of the hall. A chill wafts through the air, a slight shock after the warmth of the hall.

Annie jogs out. "Can I—"

"Yes," Mike says before Erwin can even answer. He shrugs at his commander. It's what Nanaba would encourage, he's sure.

Annie stands next to her friends. Hitch trembles. Marlowe puts his arm around her.

"It's okay to be scared," Erwin tells her.

"Huh?" Hitch looks up, her brown eyes wide.

"You're betraying the Military Police," Levi comments, leaning back against the stone.

"I don't see it that way," Marlowe shoots back.

"Oh?" Erwin raises an eyebrow. Mike frowns. This kid reminds him of Eren Jaeger. So idealistic Mike sees himself in them, at least a younger version of himself, before the deaths of so many comrades tore that away and nothing mattered but that they keep fighting, because when he fought, Mike knew that he was still alive, his heart still beat and his brain still worked, and the titans hadn't won, not yet.

"Well," Marlowe says nervously. "It's—I see myself—us—as obeying the true aims of the Military Police. Protecting the people. If the Military Police as an institution won't do that, then I will."

"He's the real deal," Hitch says. "He means what he says."

"And you?" Erwin questions.

"I care about my friends." Hitch looks to Marlowe— _not just a friend,_ Mike suspects—and Annie. Annie's mouth falls open.

"Fair enough," Erwin says with a nod. "It's a powerful motivator, as Levi here knows quite well."

Hange snorts. Mike manages a smile. Levi sighs.

"King Fritz is not the true king," Marlowe begins.

"We're aware," Hange says.

"Oh." Marlowe brushes his hair from his forehead. "But Rod Reiss is partially behind this. He wants his daughter back—he says she's in the Survey Corps—"

 _Historia_.

"And Zackley too, although I can't figure Zackley's motivations out—he seems like he wants Reiss gone—he has letters saying he hates the nobles—but he also hates the Survey Corps. It's as if he doesn't want us to discover the true cause of the titans," Marlowe says, righteous fury churning in his voice.

A bold claim. Mike strokes his chin.

"And you have these letters?" Erwin asks.

"We have one," Hitch squeaks out, digging through Marlowe's pocket. He cringes. "But we couldn't take more than that. We didn't want to—"

"He showed a particular disdain for you, sir," Marlowe says. "Although he said in one letter—to someone named Zeke—"

Mike's never heard of anyone by that name. Judging by the faces of his comrades, no one else has either.

"—that the Survey Corps' high casualty rate is something he's pleased with, and that you're at least effective in that."

Mike freezes. Levi's eyes narrow into slits. If Zackley were here, Mike's certain he'd be a pile of pulp on the floor.

"Oh," Erwin says softly, a haunted look in his eyes. "Well, at least I'm good for something."

It's a lame attempt at humor, but Mike smiles.

"You're going to put Rod Reiss's daughter on the throne, aren't you?" Marlowe asks.

"Yes," Erwin confirms. "We have a plan, one we'll announce tomorrow, after the Christmas celebrations."

"Which you have to enjoy now too," Hange declares.

Hitch looks surprised. "You're welcoming us to stay?"

"Of course," Mike speaks up. Erwin looks surprised that he actually talked.

"Then let's go back to the party," Hange says. Erwin nods. "I still have to get under that mistletoe, Levi!"

He groans.

Mike watches Erwin, but he jerks his head, as if urging Mike to return to the celebration. Mike ducks his head and scuttles in.

The kids dance now, and Nanaba smirks as Mike comes back in. "Well?"

"I'll tell you later," Mike whispers. Her hand brushes his arm, but he ducks over to try some eggnog instead of dancing with her. He curses himself as an idiot even as he does so.

The hall gradually empties, and everyone drifts up the stairs to bed, Eren and Mikasa bickering in a somewhat suspicious manner, judging by Nanaba's raised eyebrows.

"I think it's admirable," Mike says awkwardly, as they're the only two left.

"What?" Nanaba asks as she hurries to stack plates.

"Leave that for the morning," Mike tells her, reaching out to catch her arm.

"I—"

"As your superior, I command you," he teases, the taste of eggnog thick and sweet in his mouth. "I meant how well you know these kids, Nanaba."

"They're under my command, some of them. I feel responsible for them." She brushes a strand of hair from her forehead. "And I remember what it was like as a new recruit. Don't you?"

"I was terrified," Mike admits.

"Really?" Nanaba raises her eyebrows. "I never would have guessed." She pours herself the last of the punch and takes a sip, wincing as if it's sour. "You're humanity's second strongest soldier."

Mike shrugs. "I got that way because I thought it'd help me feel less scared."

"Huh?" Nanaba gulps the punch, shaking her head.

"It's true," he says softly. "Does that make you—"

"I think it's brave of you to admit that." Nanaba shakes her head. "So we're going up against who exactly?"

"Rod Reiss," Mike says as Nanaba drags a chair over to pull the mistletoe down. "And Darius Zackley."

"Zackley?" Nanaba shakes her head.

"Nanaba, I can reach it without the chair—and didn't I say to leave it for morning?" A grin breaks through Mike's face as he reaches up to grasp the mistletoe.

"Oh. Right." Nanaba nods as she steps off the chair.

 _On second thought_ … The leaves brush against his hand. Mike's heart pounds as if he's facing a horde of titans.

"That thing got a lot of use tonight," Nanaba remarks, nodding at the plant. "It was cute. It makes me happy to see them still so young—so open to possibilities."

Mike swallows. His lips won't move. His fingers tingle, numb.

"Mike?" Nanaba questions. "Are you all right?"

"I admire you, Nanaba," Mike blurts out. "For how you treat everyone—you're like them, in a way. You see them as individuals, not just numbers—not just soldiers." _Full people_. "You're kind and brave."

Nanaba's face drains as she gawps at him. "Is there—something else you want to say?" she ventures.

 _Yes_. But Mike would rather show her. He releases the mistletoe, leaving it to swing above their heads. He leans down, hand gripping her chin, and brings his lips to hers. They're chapped and dry, but so sweet.

"Mike, look out!" Nanaba shouts as she wrenches herself away.

He jumps and sees that he's caught the back of his pants on a candle. Mike smacks the flames out with his hand.

Nanaba giggles, her cheeks pink.

"Taken out by a kiss and a flame," Mike comments. "Instead of a titan."

"You really feel that way about me?" Nanaba asks, voice small.

Mike looks into her eyes. He nods.

"Kiss me," Nanaba requests, holding her hand out. "Again."

He presses his palm against hers, his fingers fitting between hers, and as he takes her mouth in his again, as she lets him in, he feels for the first time in years as if he, too, is more than just a soldier.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Up next: Eremika.**


	10. The Perfect Gift

_I can't believe I failed._

Mikasa clutches her scarf against the soft skin of her cheeks. She bites the insides of her lips, waiting for Eren. _What's taking so long?_

All she wanted to do was find a meaningful gift for Eren. Something powerful, something that reminded him to live again, for something other than just revenge, and she failed. She had a month to do it, and no amount of brainstorming with Armin or searching shops or books or ruminating on the past could give her any ideas.

"Mikasa!" Eren finally appears, wrapped tightly in his cloak and carrying a bulging bag much like the one Mikasa clutches in her hands. All the goods they've pilfered and gathered over the past month, for all their friends, their mentors. For everyone except the person who means the most to Mikasa.

Cold wafts through the windows. Eren slings his arm around Mikasa. "We better not get caught."

"We won't if you don't stomp," she says.

Eren rolls his eyes. "This where the rest of the girls are?"

Mikasa nods, putting her finger to her lips. She cracks the door open, easing her way in, listening for any sounds. Nothing other than deep breathing.

Mikasa beckons Eren in, and they sneak around, leaving the spare socks Mikasa found and washed at the foot of everyone's bed. It's weird to put gifts in stockings, but that's what Armin said people used to do. They leave a box of chocolates for Sasha, a book for Annie, a necklace for Historia, and as Mikasa slips Ymir's matching necklace down, the girl snorts in her sleep and turns over, mumbling.

Mikasa freezes. Eren claps his hand over his mouth.

"Eldia," Ymir mutters, her eyes fluttering, and then they go slack.

 _So close._ Eren grins at her, and Mikasa scuttles out of the room. Once the door's shut behind them, Eren snorts. "I thought you were a goner."

Mikasa giggles. It feels strange, to laugh. She thinks of Hitch, sleeping so peacefully with a doll clutched against her chest, and tries to shrug off the guilt that she won't get anything.

Eren flicks her hair out of her eyes. "Now you get to see the boys' quarters."

"How terribly does it smell?" Mikasa asks.

Eren shoves her. Mikasa clutches her scarf, hiding her smile. Eren frowns.

They hurry down the stairs, frigid stones stabbing at Mikasa's sock-covered feet. She readies the gifts: coffee beans for Jean, a hat and gloves for Marco (who's finally been allowed out of his recovery room), paints for Bertolt and a small bottle of liquor for Reiner, candy for Connie, and a book for Armin. Eren eases the door open with the slightest creak.

She tiptoes in, towards Jean and Marco, who sleep holding hands, Jean's head leaning against Marco's shoulder, his usually perfect hair rumpled. A snore erupts from Connie and Mikasa tries not to laugh.

It's strange to see her comrades so defenseless. They look like children. Mikasa darts over to Connie.

Eren gestures wildly from his side of the room. Mikasa scowls and slips across the room, where she sees Bertolt and Reiner asleep together, Reiner's arms wrapped around Bertolt, crushing him against his chest as if he's desperately afraid of something. In their sleep, there's no peace.

"I had no idea they were a thing," Eren comments as they leave again.

"Me neither." Mikasa almost envies them. She wonders what it would feel like to fall asleep in someone's arms again, to hold someone and know, truly know, without taking anything for granted, that the person she held was the most precious person alive to her, and know that they felt the same. Her heart aches.

 _And you couldn't even buy that person a Christmas present._

"It's kind of fun, isn't it?" Eren whispers. "Sneaking out when everyone else is asleep."

"Remember when we tried to convince Armin to sneak out and meet us once?" Mikasa asks. "I don't even remember what we were going to do."

"Neither do I," Eren admits, a grin on his face.

 _I feel like a child_ , Mikasa thinks. It's a feeling she watched bleed away from her mother, from her kidnappers, a feeling she saw eaten, a feeling she hacked to pieces herself.

 _I feel hopeful._

Her heart leaps as Eren grabs her hand, his chapped and chilled, to pull her towards the officers' quarters. He skids to a stop outside the hall, where they hear voices murmuring.

Mikasa's face drains. _If whoever that is comes upstairs while we're there, we'll be caught._

"Nanaba?" Eren whispers.

It _does_ sound like her. And—Mike?

"What's going on in there?" Eren whispers. Mikasa tugs him back to peer in herself. Her eyes pop.

Mike and Nanaba are making out.

"I'm traumatized," Eren wheezes.

"You really find love traumatizing?" Mikasa grumbles as she backs away.

"No—just seeing—them—I mean it's good, it's happy, but—" Eren shrugs.

"You'd rather everyone focused on killing titans," Mikasa finishes.

"Yeah. And no."

"No?" Mikasa raises her eyebrows.

"Maybe it… helps them. Motivate them, I mean." Eren shrugs. "Mike and Nanaba are hardly people I can criticize."

 _I thought you could criticize anybody._ Mikasa's always admired Eren's brashness, the brazen way he grabs hold of life. But she appreciates this newfound nuance. _Is it because of this whole thing with the Military Police, and Annie?_

When Armin told them he loved Annie, Mikasa was worried. She still is, but—Annie really does seem to love him, and appreciate him.

This time, they just leave the stockings outside the rooms—tea for Levi, another of Eren's teeth for Hange—"she'll love it, trust me"—a box that sings for Petra, liquor for Eld and Gunthur, a book of poems for Oruo.

Mikasa hears something swishing behind them. She freezes, grabbing Eren.

Shadows twitch from the alcoves, but no one steps out, not even Mika or Nanaba, for whom they leave chocolate.

"I think it's fine," Eren says uncertainly.

 _We'll find out_. And for Erwin, Mikasa produces a bottle of special spiced wine that she and Eren found a recipe for in that book, but that Erwin wasn't certain they could spend the money attempting to make for the Survey Corps. Well, with Sasha's help, she and Eren brewed a batch of this mulled wine.

 _And for Eren, I have nothing,_ Mikasa reminds herself. She grips the edges of her scarf.

"Mikasa—" Eren starts, but a new shadow falls over Eren's face. His jaw opens.

Mikasa freezes. _Oh, shit._

* * *

"What in the hell," begins the stern voice of Erwin Smith. "Are the two of you doing sneaking around my room?"

 _Why are_ you _out of your room?_ Eren wants to ask, but he can only gawp. Mikasa gulps.

"Well?" Erwin crosses his arms. His shirt's untucked, and he wears loose pants and long black stockings. Eren's never seen him when he's not in his uniform, 3D maneuver gear ready in case of attack.

"We're being Santa Claus, Commander," Mikasa whispers.

 _Dammit, say something, Eren! Don't leave Mikasa to do everything_. "W-we read about that tradition and bought gifts, sir," he stammers.

"Did you now?" Erwin's blue gaze fixates on the stocking leaning against his door. "Oh."

"We're sorry," Eren adds, scrambling to his feet and reaching out to pull Mikasa up too. Not that she needs the help. "We just—"

"Hm." Erwin studies the stocking. "I suppose I shouldn't open this until morning?"

Mikasa's eyes widen. Eren shrugs. "That is what the book says."

"I'll wait, then." Erwin clears his throat. "But the two of you really should head to bed. Tomorrow may be a celebration, but after that, we won't have a minute to spare. And besides, Mike alerted me to someone sneaking around, so you're likely to get caught by a less friendly sort."

Eren can only imagine if Captain Levi had caught them.

"They might even mistake you for Military Police spies," Erwin remarks.

"Is that what you thought, sir?" Mikasa questions. "Is things really that contentious?"

Erwin's jaw tightens. "We'll see."

 _We're going to put Historia on the throne,_ Eren thinks. _At least now we have Marlowe and Hitch, and Annie._

 _How long has Erwin been aware of the tensions? Was planning this Christmas celebration a distraction, or a plan, or both?_

"Sleep," Erwin orders. "That's not a request."

"Yes, sir," Eren squeaks. They dash down the hall, Eren glancing over his shoulder to see Erwin watching them. The slight smile on his face stiffens into military stone.

 _Right._ Eren ducks down the staircase, Mikasa on his heels. "He seems almost touched that we were doing this."

"You think so?" Mikasa asks, voice hushed. Moonlight breaks through the clouds, draping through one window.

Eren nods, swinging his arms. "It's a nice tradition, don't you think? Giving gifts, celebrating mercy and mankind's salvation. We can reinstitute it once the titans are all gone." His breath catches.

"Eren?" Mikasa questions.

"It's nothing," he grinds out, the image of his mother, limp in that titan's hand, screaming at Hannes to take them away, screaming at them to run, storming through his brain. "Just—thinking of all the other traditions the titans have stolen from us. We might not get them all back."

"I miss her, too," Mikasa says softly, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Eren pauses in the hallway, leaning back against the wall, the stones cold against his scalp.

"She was so kind to me," Mikasa adds. "Her and Dr. Jaeger…"

Eren reaches out to grasp Mikasa's hands. "They loved you, you know."

She almost smiles. "They loved you, too. They'd be proud of you."

 _Would they be?_ Mother would probably chastise him. He can almost hear her now, screaming: " _What do you mean, you'll kill them all, Eren Jaeger? What do you mean you can transform into one?"_

" _Fifth in the 104_ _th_ _training corps?"_ he can almost hear his father asks, He presses his head deeper into the stones, imagining his father's fingers caressing his hair. Eren fumbles to clutch the key to the basement.

" _What do you mean, you've been outside the walls?"_ he hears Mother yell again, and snorts. Mikasa's lips turn up as if she knows what he's imagining.

" _Mikasa, make sure you protect him!"_ Eren imitates.

Mikasa chortles, covering her mouth with that red scarf, but not before Eren sees pink spilling through her cheeks. She deepens her voice. _"Eren, cheer Mikasa up, why don't you? And not by hunting down your friend's bullies again!"_

"Hey, we taught them a lesson," Eren says with a shrug.

Mikasa raises her eyebrows.

"Okay, you did," he acquiesces. They grin at each other. Her eyes sparkle in a way Eren hasn't ever seen.

 _Was that what you were like, before?_

The smiles slide off her face. "Has this month been hard for you?"

"What do you mean?" Eren asks.

Mikasa folds her arms. "Well, we're not exactly working towards defeating the titans. In the long run, we are—but there's no direct action."

"I'm trying to trust Commander Erwin," Eren admits begrudgingly. "And Squad Levi."

"I'm glad to hear that," Mikasa tells him.

"Yeah…" Eren clenches his fists. "They seem to have so much trust in each other."

"We trust each other. The 104th," Mikasa says. "As much as we can. Even Jean, you trust him."

"Not to come save me," Eren retorts. "But, I guess." He watches her and wonders. How can she trust, seeing what supposed human beings did to her mother?

"What are you thinking?" Mikasa asks.

"You might not want to know."

"I want to know," Mikasa insists.

Eren slumps down to the floor, ignoring Erwin's orders. _Oops_. Mikasa slides down next to him, her knee knocking against his. "How do you trust people?" Eren asks. "I'm thinking of whom we'll have to fight—people. In the Military Police. And what if some of them are like Hannes? Ease-loving lazy drunkards, but still people at heart?"

"The people we killed when we were nine _were_ people, Eren," Mikasa states.

Panic flings through him, cobwebby and dark, sticking. "They were—"

"We didn't have a choice," Mikasa says. "Fight, if you want to live. Or else we both would have died there."

"But—"

"That makes us both murderers," Mikasa says, avoiding his eyes. "We have moments of cruelty as well, because we're a part of the world, and the world is cruel. But the world is also beautiful, and we—we can be beautiful, too." Her voice comes out a whisper. It's intoxicating. Eren leans in. "I realized that only when I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. Has he ever stopped to consider what it was like for Mikasa, in those hours? For Armin?

"Why are you sorry?" Mikasa asks. "You were one of the beautiful moments from my life. I knew I had to live, then. I knew I couldn't give up. I knew I always wanted to remember you."

* * *

Her voice trembles. _Dammit_.

Eren's hand, calloused, reaches out and takes hers. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. Mikasa's heart picks up pace.

"I'm sorry you suffered," Eren says quietly. The silver moonlight takes on a slightly golden hue.

Mikasa stretches her legs out, poking her toe into the beam. Her free hand pinches the edge of her scarf. "Eren, I didn't get you a Christmas present."

He looks to her in surprise. She forces herself to look in his eyes. "That's okay, Mikasa."

 _No, it's not. You're the most important person in my world, and I can't even figure out what to get you._

"I bought you this," Eren says shyly, digging into his pockets. "I didn't have an extra sock, though."

Mikasa laughs, but shame still pricks at her. She takes the small package, unwrapping the crinkling paper to find a red hat.

"It matches your scarf," Eren says.

Mikasa holds it up to the light, examining it. It's even stitched in the same pattern. _You must have written it down_ —or Armin did. Either way, Eren clearly thought about this gift, and tears fill her eyes.

"Don't cry," Eren tells her, thumb brushing her cheek.

Mikasa tugs the hat down over her hair, turning to beam at Eren. "How does it look?"

"Beautiful," Eren says, and something snaps within Mikasa.

"Eren," she says.

"Yeah?" He looks at her, green eyes wide.

"I don't have a physical gift," she says nervously, clasping her hands together. "But there's something I want to tell you."

"What is it?" Eren asks, shifting to his knees.

"Thank you," Mikasa begins. "For staying with me. Thank you for teaching me how to live. Thank you for wrapping this scarf around me." She pulls at it, a tear stinging her eye.

 _You have to fight if you want to live!_

 _I want to live_ , Mikasa decides. _And I want you to live, too._

Eren stares at her, his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry I don't have another gift to give you," Mikasa tells him, her eyes both welling up completely now. "I just wanted to tell you how much you mean to me." The glow from the sunrise turns pink, pooling on the floor around them. Mikasa inhales, her chest shuddering. "There's no one who—"

Eren leans closer, his forehead brushing hers. Mikasa inhales.

"Sorry," Eren stammers, pulling back. "I just—"

"Eren, I'm in love with you," Mikasa blurts out. "And you don't have to love me back. Not in that way. I just—you—now you know."

Eren moves his hands to her shoulders, face pale. "I never—"

"I know you have more important things to concentrate on," Mikasa confesses. "I mean—"

"You're important, too," Eren cuts her off. "You don't know how—how much you mean to me." His voice breaks, and he drops his head.

Panic hits Mikasa. "Eren?"

He lifts his head, and his lips find hers. Mikasa gasps.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, cupping her face in his hands, his breath tickling her nose.

"Is it what you want?" she asks.

"Yes." Eren leans in, and this time his kiss is softer, gentler. Mikasa wraps her hands around his head, opening her mouth and tasting him. Eren runs his hands down her sides, and then up to her scarf, which he unwraps slowly. He moves his lips down her now-bare neck. Mikasa moans.

This is really happening.

"You're all I wanted," Eren mutters, dropping his head against her shoulder. "Thank _you."_

"For what?" Mikasa asks.

"For reminding me that there are things to live for," Eren tells her. He pulls back, looking into her eyes. "Beyond just revenge."

A laugh echoes above them. Mikasa jumps.

"We're too late," Eren yelps.

"Let's go!" Mikasa springs to her feet, dragging him up. "Tell me how the other guys react."

Eren kisses her one more time before darting away.

 _Eren kissed me._

 _Eren likes me in that way_.

Dazed, Mikasa practically skips back to her quarters. She remembers her father, etching boxes in the dirt near their house. _"Hop on one leg, Mikasa!"_

 _You'd like Eren, Daddy,_ Mikasa thinks. _I know you would._

She flings open the door to the dormitory to find all of the girls holding their stockings. "They match, Ymir!" crows Historia.

"Mikasa!" yelps Sasha, two chocolates already in her mouth. "You—these are from you, right?" She scampers over to Mikasa, throwing her arms around her.

"Um, yes," Mikasa ekes out. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

Historia's grinning. A soft grin splices Ymir's face, and tears run down Annie's face. Mikasa remembers all the times she felt jealous of Annie.

 _There was never any reason for that insecurity, was there?_

 _Even if Eren didn't like me in this way… I'd always be Mikasa to him._

"I see you already got your gift," Ymir drawls. Hitch snickers.

"Hm?"

Sasha leans over and rewraps Mikasa's scarf. "I can only imagine if Captain Levi saw that mark."

"There's a mark?" Mikasa yelps.

"Hickies will go away in a few days," Hitch reports, tone bored. "And yours is just red now, but it'll bruise later."

"How many has that guy with the awful haircut given you?" Ymir asks.

"Shut it!"

"I need to go find Bertolt and Reiner," Annie announces abruptly. She heads towards the door, pausing in front of Mikasa, the book clutched against her chest. "Mikasa… thank you."

* * *

"This is amazing," Connie gushes.

"Nice job, Jaeger," Jean grouses.

Marco elbows him. "Jean!"

"All right, all right. _Thank_ you."

Eren can't help but grin. "You're welcome."

 _I just kissed Mikasa._ A shiver runs down his spine.

Armin looks pale, even as he gushes about the book. "Is something the matter?" Eren asks.

Armin shakes his head, tugging on his boots.

"Mikasa kissed me," Eren reports as he pulls his own on.

"What?" Armin yelps. A boot clatters against the floor.

"What did you say?" Reiner asks from across the room. Both him and Bertolt seemed far less enthusiastic about their gifts than Eren thought, although Bertolt keeps flipping open the paints to study the colors. Yet both of their faces appear almost gray. _Are they sick?_

"Mikasa kissed me," Eren says. "Or, well, I kissed her."

Jean nods appreciatively. "Good for you. Probably the best Christmas gift you could have given her."

"It is about love at its heart," Armin agrees. "The holiday. Love, and hope."

Bertolt's shoulders slump.

"Are you guys okay?" Eren asks.

"Um—" Reiner starts, but there's a rap on the door.

Marlowe, that MP guy, heads over to check. "Annie?"

"Can I talk to Reiner and Bertolt?" Annie requests. Both of the boys flinch, and Eren's alarm increases. _What is going on?_

"Merry Christmas!" Connie sings.

Annie coughs. "Merry Christmas, Connie."

"Meet you downstairs for breakfast," Reiner says. He pauses by the door. "Bertl, go ahead."

"What's going on with you two?" Jean calls.

Reiner shrugs, He spins and heads back to Eren, gripping him on the shoulder. "Thank you for your gift, Eren. I—appreciate it. Please believe me."

 _What the hell?_ "I—do?" Eren stammers.

"I'm so happy for you and Mikasa," Reiner chokes out as he lets him go, before scrambling out of the room.

"What the hell?" Eren wonders aloud.

"Did he love Mikasa?" Connie asks.

"No. He loves Bertolt," Jean retorts, shrugging into his jacket. "Let's go, Marco."

 _What do you know?_ Eren wants to rage. He doesn't like feeling out of the loop.

 _We trust each other,_ Mikasa said hours ago. _Even Jean._

Even Armin avoids Eren's gaze. "You too?" Eren demands.

"Eren, I'm sorry," Armin chokes out. "Please, don't hate me."

"For what?" Eren cries out, all of his joy evaporating.

"You'll see," Armin mutters. "Let's go to breakfast, okay?"

"Eren!" squeals Petra, rushing up to him and throwing her arms around him. "I love it! Thank you so much!"

"Uh—how did you know—"

"Erwin told us," she gushes. "Thank you."

"Not bad, kid," Oruo grunts.

Eren tries to smile, but the overall sense of foreboding snaps any joy away. _What is going on?_

Erwin arranged for a special breakfast. Eren smells the sweetness and the cinnamon from upstairs, but his stomach ties itself in knots. Reiner doesn't touch a bite of food, and Annie only eats when Armin begs her to.

"Something's wrong," Eren whispers to Mikasa.

"I can tell." She grips his hand, hers steady.

"Attention!" Erwin shouts from the front of the room. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

 _It's a holiday about love, and hope._ Eren replays Marco's words. Nothing can be too wrong, can it?

 _And if it is?_

He remembers Reiner and Bertolt encouraging him the night he struggled to use the maneuver gear, Annie teaching him. You're my friends.

"Whatever it is, I'll help them," he vows. "We will, won't we, Mikasa?"

She nods, and her silent agreement is the peace he's been craving. Eren stuffs a cinnamon roll into his mouth.

"Um, Eren?" Bertolt ventures as the meal ends. "Annie, Reiner and I—we have something to tell Commander Erwin. And Captain Levi and his squad. And Hange will be there too, and Mike and Nanaba, because of us. We think that—you should be too. You and everyone from the 104th. Plus Marlowe and Hitch, because Annie wants you there." Bertolt wraps his arms so tightly around himself that it looks like he's trying to squeeze away his existence.

Eren nods. "Bertolt—you and Reiner and Annie are all my friends. Whatever you have to say." Blood pumps through his veins, as if he's about to face a titan.

Bertolt covers his face with his hands, turning away.

Mikasa shakes her head, her grip tight and terrified on Eren's hands as they make their way to Erwin's office. Jean studies his boots, arm wrapped around Marco. Ymir looks pensive, Historia frightened. Even Connie and Sasha frown. Marlowe and Hitch just look bewildered.

"This had better be important," grumbles Levi. "Oh, Jaeger, Ackerman. Thanks for the gift."

"You're welcome, sir," Mikasa says, lowering her head. Levi smirks and stands next to Hange, who is behind Erwin's desk. Oruo, Petra, Gunthur and Eld stand to the left, Mike and Nanaba to the right. Eren cringes as he remembers the night before. The 104th line in the center, Annie clinging to Armin's arm. Bertolt looks as if he's about to collapse.

 _You're our friends_ , Eren wants to say. _Remember that._

"So," Erwin says as he shuts the door and strides over to his desk, where he stays standing. "I was assured this had nothing to do with the Military Police brouhaha."

"It doesn't," Annie agrees. "Not exactly."

"Well?" Erwin prompts. "What's so important that the three of you insist can't wait?"

Annie lets go of Armin's arm, stepping forward. Reiner grasps Bertolt by the shoulder, pulling him with them, although he positions himself slightly in front of Bertolt.

Eren realizes Mikasa's put herself in the same exact position, her left leg crossed over Eren's right one.

"We—" Reiner begins, before his voice breaks. "We're—"

"We're enemies of humanity," Annie whispers.

"What?" Erwin glares at them.

Eren's blood runs cold. "What are you—"

" _I'm the armored titan!"_ Reiner cries out, dropping to his knees. "And he's the colossal titan—and she's a titan, too—and we—we—"

A chorus of blades unsheathing shrieks through the air. Mikasa. Levi. His squad.

"What?" Hitch cries out.

"What are you saying?" Eren erupts. _Armored—colossal—no!_ Shock courses through him. Every bone in his body rattles.

"Three years ago we destroyed the wall," Reiner continues, his voice cracking and straining. Annie doubles over, sobbing into her hands. "We were assigned to—we were christened warriors—they told us they'd save our families, then—but you—you are all innocent and we—"

"We can't be forgiven," Bertolt sobs. "But we—really saw all of you as friends—we—" He curls his hands into fists, covering his eyes. "Someone please help us! I'm begging—someone please—"

"You can't be serious!" Eren shrieks.

"They're serious, Eren," Mikasa states.

"We know you can't forgive us," Annie chokes out.

" _Annie?"_ gasps Marlowe.

"But we'll tell you everything about the world beyond the walls. We'll help you in any way we can, if you want us to—or if you choose to execute us, we'll help you until that point." Annie lifts her face. "The world outside the walls still exists. Titans haven't wiped out humanity, not even close."

Erwin looks as if someone punched him in the stomach. Eren gags.

"Reiner?" Connie ventures. "It's—this is—you—"

Levi steps forward, his blade raised. Even Mikasa flinches. Bertolt cries out, his hands covering the back of his neck.

"Stop, Levi," Erwin orders, stepping forward.

 _Bertolt is the colossal titan… the one who broke the wall… crushed my house… pinned my mother._

 _Reiner broke the gate._

Eren covers his mouth, an ugly sob ripping out.

Erwin crouches down in front of the trio. "Why are you telling us this?"

"We can't do this anymore," Reiner whispers. "I feel like—like I'm breaking—into two people—not just one—"

"The only time I ever enjoyed in my life was acting as a soldier," Bertolt ekes out.

"I love Armin," Annie declares. "And no, he didn't know—not the full thing—until a few days ago. I would die to protect him."

"You tricked all of us," Sasha chokes out.

"Not all of it!" Bertolt cries out. "I really—thought of you all—as my friends."

Hitch clutches Marlowe's arm. Hange stands with her hands gripping her scalp.

"I'm sorry," Reiner sobs. "I'm so sorry—I'm so—I'm—"

"I won't kill you," Erwin tells him, reaching out and grasping Bertolt's face, lifting it up. The terror twisting it cuts at Eren's heart.

 _The colossal titan is a monster._

 _Bertolt is my friend._

 _And he's scared._

"If you mean it that you'll help us," Erwin begins carefully. "I am willing to work with you."

"They aren't the only ones who know of the outside world, and they aren't the only titans," Ymir says suddenly. "I'm one, too. Albeit I don't work for the people they do. I work for myself."

" _Five titans?"_ screeches Hange. Everyone turns to gape at her. "We have five titans here, Erwin!"

"Great," mumbles Levi.

Eren pushes past Mikasa. "Eren—"

 _That makes us both murderers. We have moments of cruelty… and beauty…_

Eren hears the other troops singing below them, a carol. He stops in front of Reiner, the boy he's thought of as a big brother, who now bawls onto the floor.

 _They are murderers. Worse than I am._

 _Can I live, knowing that I'm a murderer?_

Eren looks to Mikasa and sees the fear on her face, but also, the hope.

 _We might have the answers we've wanted for so long._

 _With you_ , Eren knows he can live.

"I'm sorry," Annie manages. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Armin hesitates, but Eren can see it in his friend's eyes. He wants to run to Annie, assure her he loves her.

"What were you thinking?" Eren demands. "Reiner, Bertolt—when I asked you for help—what were you thinking? _What?"_

"We felt sorry for you," Bertolt manages.

 _Sorry?_ He clenches his fists. Mother's sobs still echo in his ears—that smiling titan—

 _Sorry enough to stop,_ Eren realizes, watching Bertolt's shoulders tremble.

"Hey," Eren says, voice shaking. "You're—doing the right thing now."

Reiner's neck snaps up, and he shakes his head. "What?"

 _Love, and hope…_

 _I can't forgive them. Not yet._

But Eren reaches his hand out anyways, grasping Reiner's shoulder. "You want to help us?"

He nods, sniffling.

"Then that's enough. For now."

Levi's eyebrows fly up. Eren finds Mikasa staring at him, tears filling her eyes, and from her he believes he can do this, from her he gathers strength. He remembers his mother, her proclamations that everyone was special, just for existing.

 _She would probably make these three tea._

"Why?" Reiner croaks. Armin snaps and charges forward, dropping next to Annie.

Eren's eyes blur. "Because," he says. "You are my friends."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! I'm adding one more chapter, starring Erwin.  
**


	11. Thawing

It's not until everyone's out of his office that Erwin Smith lets himself collapse onto the floor. He grips the stones, mind whirling and shock still rippling through him.

 _We have the armored titan and the colossal titan in our custody._

 _We have four more titans on our side_.

 _You were right, Father. The outside world does exist. Humans weren't wiped out_. And Erwin could almost cry. _You were right. You were right. You were right._

 _Merry Christmas._

Below him, Erwin can still hear the jingle of bells and the sounds of so many soldiers laughing. He inhales so deeply his lungs sting.

The door flies open behind him. Erwin jumps.

"Just me," Levi says sourly. "Mike's handling them. And Hange's examining them. She's in heaven."

Erwin smirks. "I can only imagine."

"Shit," Levi says, meandering towards the window. His head barely touches the wreath he and Hange taped up there. "I can't believe this."

"It's overwhelming," Erwin agrees.

"You think it's overwhelming?" Levi's eyebrows rise as he turns to face Erwin.

Erwin shrugs. This feeling coursing through him, wrapping around each organ—is it relief? Is it dread? Those two feelings shouldn't be remotely similar. "I always wanted to prove that my father was right. That humanity wasn't extinct."

Levi waits, arms crossed.

"Now that it's happened, I—" Erwin shakes his head. "I don't know what to say, or what to do."

"I suggest we begin by interrogating the entire 104th training corps," Levi observes. "So far we have three spies, a reincarnated titan princess from outside the walls, a Reiss princess from inside the walls, and that's not even mentioning that we also have an Ackerman and Eren Jaeger. Plus two Military Police turncoats who are probably extremely unnerved right now."

Erwin snorts. "Call them in. One at a time."

"Will do." Levi strides towards the door.

His heart lifts. "Levi?"

"Yeah?" Levi pauses, his hand hovering over the handle.

"Do you think we have hope now?" In his mind, Erwin sees Isabel and Farlan, all of the other soldiers he led to their deaths. _It has meaning now. We'll solve this problem. Humanity will win._

"It is Christmas, right?" Levi questions. "Maybe cultivating a season of compassion actually worked as your most brilliant scheme yet."

"I didn't intend it to ferret anything out beyond the Military Police, though," Erwin admits. He'd hoped, of course—he knew someone in the Military Police was working against humanity's survival. But he hadn't the slightest inkling that some of them were titans from the outside.

Erwin cringes as he remembers the three of them sobbing on his floor. Like errant children, like Erwin sobbed after he killed his father and had no way to retract his words and bring his father back to life. No way except to resurrect his ideas.

Which he finally accomplished. Today.

 _At the expense of how many lives?_

"Maybe you're smarter than even you think you are." Levi yanks the door open. "I'm sending them in one at a time, ranked in order of 'most likely to be oblivious' to 'something stinks.'"

First in is that Military Police girl, Hitch Dreyse. She sobs that she had no idea about Annie, that she just wants to help her friends. And Marlowe Freudenberg reiterates that he wants to help the Survey Corps, wants to change the world for the better. _He's basically a calmer Eren._

Sasha Braus and Connie Springer claim to know nothing at all, beyond that Annie and Armin were acting strangely lately. Same for Historia Reiss—although she confesses to knowing about Ymir—Mikasa Ackerman and Eren Jaeger.

"How do you feel, Jaeger?" Erwin asks, leaning back in his chair and studying the headstrong boy in front of him. "Knowing that the person who kicked down the Shiganshina wall, who trapped your mother, is in the basement?"

Eren narrows his eyes. "Sir, I—" He gulps.

Erwin doesn't like provoking the kid. But it has to be done.

"I meant what I said," Eren says. "They're my friends. And they want to switch sides. They want to help us."

"Hm." Erwin rubs his chin.

" _He's wild," Levi complained after their first meeting with Eren._

Maybe he's actually growing up a little. "Thank you, Eren." Erwin dismisses him.

Next is Marco Bott, who confesses to knowing after Jean told him. And Jean, who tells Erwin about the day when they went ice-skating. Ymir claims she didn't know, but has lots to spill about the history of the world.

"You were a mindless titan for sixty years?" Erwin asks, aghast.

Ymir scowls. "I don't know how many people I ate during that time. I may have eaten some of your men and women." But her tone is anything but cavalier.

 _We could have killed her._

 _We have killed so many people like her, victims of an endless nightmare._

Levi presses his head against the glass once again. Erwin hears him inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling.

"I know I'm selfish," Ymir says. "I know I kept secrets from you—just because I wanted a chance to lie my own life. But Historia—she's—I love her. I love her, and I would do anything for her. If she's on your side, I'm on your side. Because she said she's always on mine." Eyes downcast, Ymir grits her teeth.

"You are the one who made a deal with the devil?" Erwin asks.

"Do you even want to work with such a person?" Ymir demands.

"Do you want to work with a murderer?" Erwin asks as his father's face fills his mind.

"This whole world is my fault," Ymir whispers.

"You may claim you want to live only for yourself and for Historia, Ymir Fritz, but you don't," Erwin comments. "You feel the weight of the world and the people suffering in it deeply, don't you?"

Ymir doesn't so much as flinch. She meets his gaze, her own hard, stony.

"You're dismissed," Erwin tells her.

"You think we can count on her as a reliable ally?" Levi questions.

"I thought of _you_ as a reliable ally," Erwin points out. He shivers as a chill rolls through the room.

Levi scowls.

"And you have been," Erwin adds. His breath catches. "Thank you, Levi." _For being more than humanity's best soldier. You're my best friend._

Levi jerks his head in a nod, and he marches out only to return with a pale Armin Arlert.

"So," Erwin begins, taking in the trembling kid. The genius, really. "How long have you known?"

"Annie saved me the night we were lost in the forest," Armin reports. "By transforming into a titan. She told me the truth a few days later."

"And you didn't immediately tell us because…?" Erwin prompts.

Armin wrings his hands. "Because I knew she wasn't an enemy of humanity any more. Annie's a terrible liar. I knew that—that in order to persuade Bertolt and Reiner, or capture them, we'd have to listen to her, go by her schedule. She always planned to tell you on Christmas." His breath catches. "She's not a bad person, really."

"And what is a bad person, Armin?" Erwin asks. "Because, considering the amount of people she's killed, some would think that—"

"I know she's done bad things," Armin interrupts. "But, like Eren—she wants to help humanity now. She's been a bad person, but does she have to stay that way?"

 _I was a bad person, Father, Isabel, Farlan, Dietrich..._ "No," Erwin says finally. _Have I made it up to you? Can I ever?_ "She doesn't."

Annie, Reiner, and Bertolt will never, ever be able to make it up to any of the hundreds of thousands they killed, Erwin knows. _Does that mean they have to let it drown them?_

 _Not if they want to fight for hope, for a future, for no more lives to be ripped away from this earth._

 _And me? Do I have to stay a devil forever?_

 _Or can I be like Ymir, and have a new life?_

"It seems like Christmas is about second chances," Erwin remembers Armin saying a few weeks ago. _You knew by then, didn't you,_ Erwin realizes. _Sneaky kid_. "For everybody. They can have a new year and a new life, new hope. It's about love for people, and it comes from this story about a God coming down to a hellish earth to save people."

Annie, Reiner, and Bertolt might be no gods—they might even be victims in their own country, but they decided somehow that the people in the walls are worth helping.

Erwin clears his throat. "Do you want to see her?"

Armin's eyes dart around the room. "Yes."

"Let's go." Erwin rises, heading for the door. The spicy, sweet smell of pine coats the hallway. Levi follows.

"Are you disappointed in me, sir?" Armin asks as they trod down the stairs.

 _Am I?_ Erwin pauses to consider. "In some ways, yes."

Armin's shoulders slump.

 _And if Marie had been a titan? Nile?_ Erwin can't even imagine. "But I'm also proud of you. And where I'm disappointed, well, I can't say I would have done anything differently."

Levi snorts. Armin glances up at him, eyes shining.

"Hey," Oruo grunts as he sees them. "Hange's in with the girl right now."

Armin glances at Erwin. He marches towards the cell.

"Armin!" Annie cries, chains around her wrists clanking.

He pushes past Erwin, throwing himself at her. She clutches him. "I love you."

"I love you," Armin tells her.

Erwin's nose wrinkles. He glances behind him to see Reiner, the large boy everyone seemed to respect and admire, slumping against a wall, Nanaba guarding his cell. Bertolt is in the cell directly across from Reiner, Mike at the door.

"All three of you," Erwin says. "I want the story. The full story."

"All of us do," interrupts a voice that Erwin really shouldn't be surprised to hear. Levi groans.

Eren stands there with his hand clutching Mikasa's. Jean, Marco, Ymir, Historia, Sasha, Connie, Marlowe, and Hitch all gather.

"I don't know that you do," Annie says as Hange slips out of the cell to stand next to Levi.

"I do," Erwin says. _There's no place to sit_. So he drops to the floor. Reiner's jaw hangs open.

Everyone else slowly eases themselves onto the floor. Erwin notices Hitch clutching a doll. _Weird_.

"I'll start, I guess," Reiner says as he launches into an explanation of the history of the Eldians and the Marlayans. "We lived in a ghetto, and my family decided I was too much of a burden. They put me in the warrior program when I was six."

"My family was talked into it," Bertolt admits quietly. "I just wanted to go home."

"We trained every day. So many fell, couldn't handle it—and when they couldn't handle it, they were beaten until they toughened up, or they were killed," Reiner says.

"That's why you helped all of us," Connie says in horror. "In training."

"When you took my bag," Armin whispers.

Reiner shifts, hiding his face.

"When we were ten, and Annie nine, we were given the titan serum. I ate—neither of us know who we ate."

"I do," Annie says, her voice shaking. "They made me eat my mother."

Erwin's stomach heaves. He can only imagine the guilt Annie feels.

What could someone have said to him? " _It's not your fault?"_ But it _was_ his fault.

It's not theirs.

"I don't want to hurt anyone any more," Bertolt ekes out. "Who—who wants to do this? Who actually wants to kill people? I just want to—I want this to _stop_. I want this to end." He gulps. "I—I _hate_ myself for doing this. I'm so—"

 _You were a child, caught up in things you didn't understand,_ Erwin realizes.

 _Weren't_ you?

 _Forgiveness is not something I deserve._

 _And them?_

"I want to keep people alive," Annie retorts.

"So do I," Reiner says. And when Erwin looks at them, he sees terrified children, desperate for more days of life, of freedom, just like the people in the walls.

 _Give them a second chance._ And maybe, but offering them one, Erwin can imagine a second chance for himself opening up, a life worth living, a life with bloody sacrifices still ahead, but one that he knows will have a purpose. He knows their enemies now; he knows how gray and murky everything now seems, with humans opposing them, humans Erwin's ancestors once apparently committed the exact same atrocious crimes against.

 _I want to fight for a world where no one suffers like this,_ Erwin thinks. _Not Eldians. Not Marlayans.  
_

Whether all the deaths on his conscience will have any meaning or not, Erwin doesn't know, but he'll try hard to make it so. _You died fighting a lie, but we'll see to it that you're remembered._

"We can seal the gate in Wall Maria," Reiner says softly.

"What?" demands Erwin.

"I can call titans," Annie says. "Direct them away from the area, while we go in and Bertolt can lift that boulder, replace it."

"And then?" Erwin asks. "Do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go back to your home village and fight?"

"We want peace," Annie croaks out.

 _Peace on earth, and mercy mild…_

"We'll help with whatever plan you come up with," Reiner promises.

"It's the least we can do," Bertolt whispers.

"We can train Eren," Annie adds. "As a titan."

Eren's jaw drops. Mikasa raises her eyebrows.

"And Historia?" Ymir demands. "Because if we don't get her on the throne, there's no point in trying to broker a peace with the Marleyans. Fake king Fritz won't go for it."

"Your relative?" asks Levi.

"Don't bring that up."

Historia kisses her on the cheek.

"We put Historia Reiss on the throne first," Erwin agrees. He rises, peering into all three of the cells. "Let them out."

"Are you sure?" asks Eld.

"I'm sure." Erwin straightens his spine.

Armin leads Annie out. Gunthur unlocks Reiner's, and then Bertolt's. Reiner bounds out, but Bertolt hesitates until Reiner looks to him, and Bertolt steps out.

"Are you ready?" Erwin asks. "It's not an easy thing, to be seen by the people you've vowed to serve as a traitor."

"I'm ready," Bertolt whispers. He was not whom Erwin expected to speak first.

Annie nods. Reiner swallows and says he is, Bertolt taking his hand and squeezing it.

"Thank you," Erwin tells them.

 _Thank you for reminding me that second chances exist._

 _That you can be more than murderers._

 _That I can be more than the son who failed and then vindicated his father._

Petra hums the first cords of " _We wish you a Merry Christmas."_ Sasha starts to sing, and then Connie. Hitch jabs Marlowe until he joins in. And Jean reaches out and grabs Bertolt's shoulder, urging him to join in the chorus.

And somehow Erwin's jaw pries open, and he, too, sings. Levi and Hange, Mike and Nanaba, all of them. A chill seeps through his back, and he can almost imagine calloused hands, his father's hands, caressing his face.

" _You're smart, Erwin," his father would say. "You'll go far. You ask the right questions. You're capable."_

 _I love you_ , Erwin thinks. _Wherever you are._

 _This is Christmas_.

* * *

 **Cheesy? I don't deny it. Thank you for reading, and Happy Holidays!**


End file.
